


Arrangement for Solo, Duet, and Trio

by karotsamused



Series: Scales and Arpeggios [1]
Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, talking about feelings, talking about sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 96,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karotsamused/pseuds/karotsamused
Summary: “I am serious about dick,” says Ren sagely. “It’s one of the best things to be serious about. I spent hours in silent contemplation on the nature of two gorgeous, delicious cocks and how best to pursue them—““Delicious!” wheezes Tokiya, shaking with laughter.“Silent,” deadpans Masato.“And now I have them in my grasp - metaphorically and literally,” Ren continues, undeterred, “and I am serious about keeping them that way.”





	1. The Longest Afternoon of Ichinose Tokiya’s Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is my life; these are my choices. I wave my hand and magically they're all adults, hooray!
> 
> Thank you, dearest Bean, for cheerleading.
> 
> An unsolicited thank you also to EXO, because I blame this in part on Ko Ko Bop.

There’s a certain kind of courtliness to illicit romance. Not the act itself, but the subterfuge in hiding it. Every movement, every moment of eye contact is its own language, to be interpreted only by the players.

Tokiya wonders when he became fluent. Perhaps he even figured it out before the others did, in Ren’s annoyance and Masato’s silences. In Ren’s physicality and Masato’s retreat.

The stakes are too high for any recklessness, but affection unrequited is not so much a temptation to impropriety as it is a physical ailment, a sickness, a need. Tokiya saw it in the way they looked at one another, in the way Masato picked fights and Ren rose to the bait, in the way Ren tried to needle in return and was rebuffed.

It was a relief when they broke. Masato’s serenity resurfaced. Ren no longer lounged like a caged animal, all promise and power and frustration. Tokiya wonders if anyone else could see it.

It didn’t seem so. Tokiya knows better than to bring it up with anyone. It’s a secret, Ren’s and Masato’s. And his, apparently, unwitting though he was in discovering it. In a way, it’s nice to know their friendship blossomed into romance. He’s happy for them, as a friend. As a coworker, he consoles himself with the particulars of their contracts. The romance ban stipulates boy/girl relationships, for all that Shining crows about forbidding love.

STARISH, Tokiya knows, means far too much to both of them for either Ren or Masato to jeopardize it. But love, if it is love, has a way of shuffling the priorities of the afflicted.

No, he trusts them both. By Tokiya’s estimate, the two of them have been… something. Together, or at least mutually satisfied, for nearly four months. That’s a full summer, filled with appearances and shows and interviews, and not a single crack in their facade.

But Ren doesn’t flirt with Nanami as often anymore. He calls her ‘lamb’ and gives her flowers, but he’s stopped cornering her to get close. Masato doesn’t dig his nails into his palms when Nanami edges close to talk to him, doesn’t nobly stare off into the distance to maintain his restraint.

So, yes. Tokiya is happy for them. They’re well-suited to one another.

Ren enters the dorm room Tokiya shares with Otoya, his whole body tense.

Tokiya thinks, _speak of the devil_.

“Ichi,” Ren breathes, shutting the door behind him and flicking the lock, “I need advice.”

Tokiya turns away from his desk, gestures to his bed. Ren sinks onto it, his posture impeccable, his hair perfect as it flows over his shoulders. His hands circle one another, coming together, pulling apart, finally settling on his knees in loose fists.

Softly, Tokiya says, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” says Ren. His breath catches, he lets it out slow. “I mean. Okay, something.”

“Take your time,” says Tokiya.

Ren’s jaw works. It’s clear, he expected something other than patience and quiet in coming here. Perhaps he’d hoped Tokiya would be too busy to hear him, for an excuse not to talk. He takes a measured breath, then another.

“It’s about Masa, isn’t it?” Tokiya guesses.

Ren stiffens. Then, a little helplessly, he laughs. “Yeah. You know everything, don’t you, Ichi?”

Tokiya shakes his head. “No, no. It’s not obvious. I don’t think anyone else has picked up on it.”

“Nacchan has,” says Ren dryly. He smiles a little. “He’s got a nose for it when it’s not about him.”

“So what is it about Masa?” asks Tokiya, redirecting. He can feel Ren trying to stall.

Ren rubs both of his hands over his face, shoulders sagging. “I think I’m doing something wrong.”

Tokiya can feel a twinge in his chest, the low warning ache. He always knew Shining banned romance not because of the implications of love but for the impact of heartbreak. Still, so soon? “Tell me about it,” he urges softly.

For a long moment, Ren is silent, fidgeting with his face, his hair. Finally, he takes a sharp breath and blurts, “I can’t get him to touch me _back_.”

Tokiya blinks, both at the declaration and the wretchedness of Ren’s voice on that last word. “You mean… he’s not, um. Reciprocating?”

Ren’s whole face and neck darken, his skin going red. He shakes his head. “I thought it was shyness. I - I’ve been coaxing everything out of him. I’ve been so careful. I’ve been taking care of him.”

“I believe you,” says Tokiya, swallowing his own squeamishness. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. “Have you talked to him about it?”

Ren shakes his head. “I try to. He just. He thinks I’m asking for sex. Which, I mean, I guess I am.” He laughs wryly, covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m starting to feel _bad_ about it.”

Tokiya says, “Don’t. You’re supposed to be able to ask for what you want.”

“I have,” says Ren softly. “I don’t know — I don’t know what I’m doing to mess it up, but it’s got to be something.”

Tokiya winces. “I don’t either. I don’t know how much I can help you.”

Ren smiles thinly, looking up at Tokiya. “Yeah, I. I think I just needed to tell someone. Sorry for putting that on you.”

“No,” says Tokiya, though he knows his heart is still pounding too hard. “No, I want you - both of you - to be okay. But, uh.” He can’t help it, he has to know. “Why me?”

Ren laughs, though it’s reflexive, humorless. “Out of everyone?”

“Yeah,” says Tokiya. “You know I’ve been in this business longer than anyone.”

Ren hears the subtext, from the way his eyes slide away from Tokiya and down to the floor. “You’re mature, Ichi. I trust you.”

Tokiya wonders what Ren means by _mature_. Patient, maybe, or unlikely to tell the others. Good at keeping secrets, for all that he managed to hide Hayato for years. But experienced? No. Tokiya can barely handle the fumblings of his own heart, and he’s lived under the constraints of never acknowledging them so long that he can almost ignore his desires. For all that he’s acted out love, for all that he’s embraced, has kissed onstage, it’s all been with other _actors_.

Tokiya grasps at the best conversational handhold he’s got. “I trust you, too.”

“Didn’t just ruin it, did I?” asks Ren, scooting a little further back on Tokiya’s bed. He puts his back against the wall, crossing his legs.

Tokiya sighs a little, leaning back in his chair. He hopes he looks as sure as he feels about this answer. “No.”

Ren’s expression relaxes into a more genuine smile. “Thanks. I’m, um. I’m not going to take advantage or anything. I just. I’m getting to the point where I can’t stand it.”

“Worse than the swimsuit-shoot diet?” asks Tokiya, trying to inject a little levity.

“Imagine you’re on that diet, but you are _constantly up to your elbows in cake_.”

“Oh my God, Ren!” Tokiya cracks, hiding his face in his hands.

Ren laughs, delighted. “Sorry!”

Tokiya’s voice betrays him, a hint of laughter creeping in. “You aren’t. You aren’t sorry at all.”

“But it got the point across,” says Ren, beaming. “Though it’s really not elbows. It’s like, second knuckle—“

“Get out.”

“Ichi, no-o.”

“There is only so much _I_ can take, and you have found the limit. Get out, get out,” says Tokiya, trying to school his features into a glare.

Ren laughs into his hand, finally starting to sound like himself again. “Okay! I’m going.”

“Don’t let the door hit you,” says Tokiya, turning resolutely back to his desk.

He doesn’t jump when Ren’s hands land on his shoulders, but it’s a near thing. He lets Ren pull him back in his chair, looks up at him as Ren loops his arms loosely around his neck.

“Really, though. Thanks, Ichi. I’m. I’m gonna figure this out.”

Tokiya blows into Ren’s face, making his bangs flutter. “Even if I can’t give you any advice, I can listen. Just try not to be so crude.”

“My apologies to your delicate sensibilities,” Ren purrs.

“Take your sexual frustration out on someone else,” says Tokiya, trying to keep his voice even. He flicks Ren squarely in the center of the forehead. “And stay out of trouble.”

Ren grins at him. “One for two,” he says, but he lets go and lets himself out.

Tokiya takes a moment to breathe, centering himself. He thinks he handled that well enough, but his heartbeat is still ringing in his ears. Up close, Ren has cinnamon on his breath.

(Intellectually, Tokiya knows this is because Ren drinks hot water with cinnamon and lemon for his appetite and his throat. Intellectually, Tokiya knows Ren also likes cinnamon gum. He knows Masato prefers delicate green tea and gentle mint. Oh, how their mouths must burn when they meet.)

(No, no. No, he’s not going to think about it.)

Otoya finds him with his head down on his desk and asks if he’s feeling well.

Tokiya lifts his head and Otoya laughs at the red circle on his forehead, poking it with one fingertip.

“Tokiya-a,” he says, “did you doze off?”

“Mm,” says Tokiya, resisting the urge to rub his face.

“You’ve been looking tired,” Otoya says. “Maybe it’s time to take a break?”

The last thing Tokiya wants in this moment is to lay on his bed and try to convince himself to sleep. He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. “I think that last break was probably enough for now.”

He pushes his chair back from his desk and stands up, rolling out his shoulders. “What I really need is to stretch my legs.”

Otoya perks up a little. “Wanna hit the gym?”

“Yeah,” says Tokiya, smiling at him. “Sounds good.”

Otoya wiggles as he waits for Tokiya to change clothes. He’s already in track pants and a t-shirt, and he chatters to Tokiya about playing a pick-up soccer game that morning with the kids at the orphanage. Tokiya can only shake his head, because of course Otoya spends his free time with those kids. Otoya is devastating and perfect.

“Are you sure you want to get _more_ exercise in?”

“The kids were cardio,” says Otoya, with a good-natured smile. “A warm-up.”

Tokiya doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Oh, okay. I can spot for you, if you want.”

“You’re the best!” Otoya crows, hopping to his feet to grab their towels. He gives Tokiya a warm smack between the shoulders and says, “C’mon, c’mon.”

Tokiya doesn’t cough or wince, just says, “Hold on.”

He leans against his bed to get his shoes on, tucks his ID card into his pocket, and makes a show of checking to ensure he hasn’t forgotten anything just to make Otoya squirm.

“To. Ki. Ya.”

“Hm?”

“Your phone is on your desk, now can we _go_?”

“Ah, so it is,” says Tokiya, picking up his phone and tucking it into his pocket with his card. “I’m ready.”

Otoya grins at him and bounds out into the hall. If Tokiya knew where his energy came from, he’d siphon some off for himself. As it is, he walks beside Otoya out of the dorm building and down to the athletic complex, refusing to be baited into a footrace on the way. Otoya just smacks Tokiya with his towel, leading the way to the weight room.

A few months before, Otoya and Natsuki settled into a friendly arm-wrestling contest over shotgun privileges. Not only did Natsuki beat Otoya without apparent effort, he bruised Otoya’s knuckles when they impacted with the table.

(Oh, how Natsuki fretted and fussed, insisted on wrapping Otoya’s hand for him and pressing an icepack shaped like Piyo-chan over his hand! Otoya bore it with grace, as only Otoya could have.)

Ever since his defeat, Otoya’s focused not only on his general athleticism, but on his strength. Tokiya has become an able spotter. By proximity he ended up following Otoya’s workouts with him, albeit at less weight.

Tokiya doesn’t have much of an interest in bulking up, but the meditative quality of it, the way it burns to push himself, clears his head. The smell in the weight room is nothing like cinnamon, and it’s rare that there are many people with them. Sometimes, Ranmaru, though he prefers the punching bags. Sometimes, Syo or Hyuuga-sensei, though never together.

Probably to Otoya’s internal annoyance, they’ve never seen Natsuki working out at all.

Otoya’s flexibility is nowhere near Tokiya’s and he worries about it, guiding Otoya through stretches as they cool down. To his credit, Otoya does his best to follow along and push himself, counting breaths with Tokiya. He’s warm from his workout, sweat in a deep V down his back. Tokiya holds his wrists and helps him lean forward, watches Otoya’s hands flex and relax.

His treacherous brain replays Ren’s joke: _it’s like second knuckle_ —

Tokiya can’t even figure out _what_ made that memory surface. Otoya’s measured breathing, maybe? Or the way the tendons in his wrist rub against Tokiya’s hands? The curve of his spine, the soft shuffling of his track pants as they rub across the floor?

Or maybe Tokiya just has it out for himself. That’s an equally valid option.

He releases Otoya and lets Otoya “help” him stretch in return. Mostly, he needs a solid surface to brace against and Otoya is more obliging than the wall. It’s what he tells himself as he feels Otoya press against his back, lets Otoya weigh on his shoulders.

Tokiya focuses on breathing. When they finish, he lets Otoya give him a hand up off the floor. Otoya looks like he’s finally gotten rid of his energy, something like contentment on his pleasant face. As they head back to the dorms, Otoya hums to himself and elbows at Tokiya until he gets Tokiya to join in.

The afternoon dims into evening, cool with the promise of fall. The residual heat from the gym clings to Tokiya, keeping him warm even as his sweat dries down his back. Otoya even offers him first shower, and Tokiya gratefully accepts.

Tokiya keeps it quick. Otoya is waiting. He only affords himself a brief pause under the spray just to feel it before scrubbing the salt out of his hair. He is efficient, businesslike. He does not think about Ren or Masato, no.

That only lasts until he’s traded places with Otoya, listening to the water run in the bathroom and pulling a shirt on over his head. There’s a knock at the door, and only one person really knocks anymore.

Tokiya opens the door to see Masato in the hall, trembling.

“What did Jinguuji say to you?” asks Masato, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

Tokiya glances back into the room. “We should go somewhere else if you want to talk.”

Masato holds himself stiffly, grimacing. “No, I don’t want to talk to you or anyone else.”

“Masa,” says Tokiya softly. When Masato’s grimace tightens, he darts back from the door to step into his shoes and let himself out. He shuts the door behind him and says, “Come on.”

He doesn’t try to touch Masato, only walks with the hope that he’ll follow.

Masato’s footsteps are quiet, catlike, as they make their way to a soundproofed practice room. Tokiya finds one that isn’t in use, flips the sign and holds the door for Masato.

The practice room, as usual, has a piano tucked in the corner. This one is a small upright, black and gleaming under the lights. Masato seats himself at it and starts playing, low and quiet. The same four chords, over and over, swaying like the sea.

Tokiya leans against the piano and waits, watching Masato’s hands. On the keys, they are sure, slim-fingered and strong. They move in a predictable pattern. Rise, fall, resolution.

“Tell me what you talked about,” says Masato, just barely louder than the music.

Tokiya sighs. “It was private.”

“I’m _well aware_.”

“Please don’t fight with me over the actions of another person,” says Tokiya. Masato’s shoulders hunch, but his hands don’t falter. More gently, Tokiya says, “He didn’t say or do anything to change my respect for you.”

Masato bows his head, so Tokiya can’t see his face. “Ichinose.”

Tokiya reaches out, tapping keys in time with Masato’s playing with one hand. He finds a simple melody, mimicking Masato’s hands. Rise, fall, a half-step behind the changing chords.

“Has he given up on me?”

Tokiya stops, fingertips just brushing one of the keys. Swiftly, he says, “No. Far from it.”

Masato breathes, “I can’t give him what he wants.”

“You can’t? He’s asking for something you don’t want?” asks Tokiya, concern pushing his volume up.

Between them, there is nothing but the sound of the music. Masato plays on, head bowed.

Tokiya can only wait, though he wants nothing more than to push. Pushing, though, is what’s gotten Ren and Masato to this point. He chews his tongue, watching Masato’s shoulders work, tense and close. He imagines the sound of creaking bones, the strain in Masato’s chest.

Masato’s hands still.

He whispers on the edge of hearing.

“I want to. But I’m - not going to be good.”

Tokiya lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He swallows hard to force the words out. “Let him teach you?”

When Masato tenses, Tokiya continues, “He’s convinced he’s made a mistake somewhere. He’s trying to figure out how to make it better.”

Masato leans forward, his forehead resting against the body of the piano. “He hasn’t.”

“I think you should tell him, not me.”

Masato shakes his head. “I can’t. It’s so - I can’t say it.”

Tokiya manfully resists the urge to smack himself in the face. As it is, his hand raises and he shifts to grip a handful of his own hair. The pull is grounding. He says, “You can, if it’s worth it to you.”

“I can’t.” His voice sounds more sorrowful, now, but no less resolute.

The things Tokiya does for his friends. He takes a breath and says, “Hijirikawa Masato, repeat after me.”

Masato lifts his head, his eyes wide with surprise. “Pardon?”

“Repeat. I don’t know how to do this.”

Tentatively, like the words might somehow cut his lips on the way out, Masato says, “I-I don’t know how to do this.”

“Please teach me.”

“Please teach me.”

Tokiya spreads his hands. “That’s it. That’s _all you have to say_.”

Masato’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. He begins a protest, but Tokiya holds up his hand.

“I swear to you. Go talk to him.”

Again, Masato tries to protest, but Tokiya just shakes his head.

“Trust me.”

Slowly, Masato rises from the piano bench. A bright red flush has started at the base of his throat, and his mouth twitches with nerves. He stays quiet, though, nodding to Tokiya as he leaves.

Once the door has closed, Tokiya counts to a hundred in his head.

Then, and only then, he screams.


	2. Tokiya Revises His Earlier Assessments Regarding The Subjective Length of an Afternoon

A lesser man, in Tokiya’s circumstances, might choose a shameful path. He might masturbate himself into a coma, or at the very least be unable to look his friends in the eye, knowing his advice is the turning point of their physical relations. That lesser man might fantasize about the conversation he prompted, Masato’s confession and his plea.

(Masato would be nearly unable to stammer the words out, his cheeks so red with shame until Ren soothes them with kiss after kiss. Ren would be so relieved, and such a capable instructor, guiding Masato’s hands over his skin until they stop trembling. Masato would look up at Ren, his eyes wet and wide and awed, and Ren would smile to reassure him. Methodically, patiently, Ren would drag Masato’s fingertips over every one of his weak spots, teaching Masato how to wreck him, until Ren has to moan out his encouragement. Ren would talk Masato through unbuttoning every frivolous button on Ren’s idiotic designer jeans, would laugh when Masato startles at the fact that Ren wears nothing beneath them. And with his hands guided by Ren’s, Masato would curl his fingers around Ren’s cock, his breath coming fast with nerves. Ren would gasp and praise him, would show him exactly how to move, until Ren could do nothing but beg Masato not to stop—)

Tokiya is not a lesser man. He maintains his composure that evening, and through the next morning. If Ren and Masato look exceptionally well rested at breakfast, he makes no comment.

To his endless gratitude, neither of them acknowledges any change whatsoever. It seems the conversations of the previous day happened in a vacuum and no longer exist.

Days pass, melting into weeks. Eventually Tokiya relaxes fully. Ren and Masato look happier, communicate more completely, and still keep their secret. With time, the embarrassment of it dulls. The three of them seem content to leave the past in the past.

Until Ren enters the dorm room Tokiya shares with Otoya and says, “Ichi.”

Tokiya takes one look at his posture and says, “What did you do.”

Ren shuts the door with his hip, flicks the lock, and says, “Nice to see you too.”

“Okay, seriously. What did you do?” asks Tokiya, turning in his chair.

Ren smiles at him, his sharp, white teeth worrying at the corner of his lip. “I need your help.”

Tokiya sighs, steeling himself. “With what.”

Ren crosses the room until he’s close enough to lean his hip against Tokiya’s desk. His eyes are half-lidded, and still his teeth dig into his lip. “With Hijirikawa’s confidence. I keep telling him how good he is, but he’s still worried it’s because I’m biased.”

Tokiya feels his stomach drop hard to his knees, his mouth suddenly dry. “You aren’t saying what I’m hearing.”

“But you’re gonna need a control to judge against,” Ren continues, his voice quiet. “So if you agree, I’ll go first.”

Ren is so close Tokiya can smell cinnamon. His voice shakes as he asks, “Agree to what?”

Ren glances down the length of Tokiya’s body before answering. “Let us suck you off. To start.”

“There is _no way_ Masa has agreed to that!” Tokiya hisses, clinging to anything that keeps the sudden overwhelming lust at bay. He won’t consider it, _can’t_.

Ren leans down, close enough to touch. “Hijiri’s waiting for us to finish here and come back to him. He knows exactly what I’m doing.”

Tokiya wheels backward, away from Ren. He only gets half a foot before his chair hits the edge of his bed and stops. Ren stays where he is.

“No. No, I’m not - “ Tokiya swallows, starts again “ - I’m insulted. I’m not a toy.”

Ren holds his hands up. “Then I said it wrong. Ichi, we both want you. Completely. Hijiri is worried you won’t like him because then you won’t want to stay.”

Of all the propositions Tokiya’s ever received this is the most explicit. But also, maybe, the most sincere. Certainly the most terrifying. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t considered what he’d have done to teach Masato not to be afraid, to keep Ren from feeling like he’d made a mistake.

He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t certain whose heart would break first. He’d be coming in as a third wheel, easiest to drop if he caused trouble.

Tokiya shakes his head, looking out the window like the landscape could somehow protect him. His reflection is wretchedly flushed.

Softly, Ren says, “Please, Ichi. I like you _so_ much. Let me show you.”

“This isn’t— Ren.” Tokiya holds the edge of his chair with both hands, mumbling, “I haven’t even - I haven’t. You know that.”

“Let me be the first one?” Ren asks, straightening. “I can go slow.”

Tokiya presses back into the chair. His mouth moves before his brain, asking, “How slow?”

“Like this,” says Ren, holding Tokiya’s cheek in his hand. He tips Tokiya’s head back.

Tokiya caves, lets Ren kiss him. It’s so gentle. Tokiya’s been kissed harder in front of a camera, but somehow this sets every nerve on alert. He can feel Ren breathing out, the slow, rhythmic stroke of Ren’s thumb over his cheek, every curve of Ren’s lips. The kisses remain soft, testing, until Tokiya leans into Ren’s hand and responds.

Ren makes a soft, low sound and coaxes Tokiya with constant teasing, sucking at his lower lip but pulling away before Tokiya can catch him, nuzzling his chin. Tokiya barely realizes he’s panting open-mouthed before Ren dares slip his tongue past Tokiya’s lips. Stunned, Tokiya moans. This must be what he does for Masato, opening him up like something precious and sharp-edged and breakable.

“Shh, shh,” Ren soothes, curling his free hand around the base of Tokiya’s throat. With Tokiya’s gasp, Ren returns his tongue, slick and soft, to stroke over Tokiya’s. He tastes like cinnamon, muted on his breath. Tokiya _knew_ it.

Under Ren’s hands, Tokiya feels grounded, cradled. Tokiya reaches for him, curling his fingers in Ren’s shirt to pull him down, and Ren goes, spreading his legs to slide into Tokiya’s lap. Tokiya tenses in anticipation, but Ren doesn’t move farther than mid-thigh, doesn’t press against him. Instead, he uses the new angle to kiss Tokiya more deeply, petting his hands through Tokiya’s hair.

Ren coaxes, asking with his lips and tongue, to get Tokiya to try using his own. Tokiya ventures carefully, stroking his tongue in gentle stripes over the roof of Ren’s mouth. In return, he feels Ren shiver in his lap, a shaky breath escaping him. And oh, that he could make Ren shiver goes right through him like lightning. He _has_ to try again, reaching for Ren, holding the back of his neck to keep him close.

Ren is responsive but so, so quiet, all his encouragement in his sighs and the movements of his hands. It’s the silence of someone trying very hard not to get caught, determined to swallow all of the noises Tokiya might make between them.

Tokiya needs him closer, drops one hand to his hip and kneads at it. Only then can he feel how much they’re moving, seeking friction, grinding against air. Ren’s keeping his distance because Tokiya asked for slow. And yet, Ren’s sucking his tongue with the same rhythm as the roll of his hips. Ren flicks the tip of his tongue against Tokiya’s and Tokiya jerks, weak to the heat building at the base of his spine.

Ren pulls back, nipping at Tokiya’s lower lip before moving to Tokiya’s throat. He slides back further on Tokiya’s thighs, getting some distance, and presses his hand over Tokiya’s mouth. He catches the helpless noises Tokiya makes when he bites, swift and sharp, at the base of his throat.

Tokiya’s hand goes tight in Ren’s hair, warning.

“No mark, don’t worry,” Ren whispers against his skin, mouthing his way up to Tokiya’s ear. “I can do it again?”

Tokiya shifts, his eyes fluttering open. It’s the first eye contact they’ve made since Ren kissed him, and Ren’s hand is still over his mouth.

He pulls Ren’s hand away to catch his breath. Ren’s expression is open, full of hope and a little wariness, with the way his eyes dart from Tokiya’s lips to his eyes.

“No marks,” he confirms, and the huskiness of his own voice surprises him.

Ren grins a little. “Hey, have you ever seen Hijiri with a hickey? Give me a little credit.”

Tokiya flushes, reminded all at once of Masato _waiting for them_.

Ren just hums, covering Tokiya’s mouth again. His hand is gentle, patient, as he whispers, “Let’s see if you like the same places.”

Tokiya shivers, can’t find it in himself to protest when Ren nibbles at his collarbones. Ren licks a hot stripe from the base of his neck to the curve of his jaw, then bites his way back down. Tokiya makes soft sounds against Ren’s palm, his head thrown back. His hands settle on Ren’s thighs, digging into the outer seams of his jeans. Ren moves with him but never presses close, never molds their hips together. Always, he’s a hot pressure on Tokiya’s thighs, but no further.

Ren presses kisses over Tokiya’s chest, all the skin left bare by his shirt. At the lowest point of his collar, Ren pauses to breathe against his skin. He slips his hand from Tokiya’s mouth and trails his fingers down the side of his neck.

“Ichi,” he murmurs, “may I keep going?”

When Tokiya doesn’t respond promptly, he lifts his head, sits up to look him in the eye. “Tell me. Please.”

“It’s so much,” Tokiya whispers. He can feel it, just this side of overwhelmed, the hammering of his heart in his chest. He’s never been so turned on in his life. But he can see where Masato would freeze, terrified, in the face of it.

“That’s why I need you to tell me, Ichi.” Ren squeezes his shoulder.

Tokiya takes a moment. He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He can feel his feet, braced on the floor, weight on his heels. His calves, tensed. His knees, bent. His thighs, pressed into the chair, held down by Ren’s weight. His hips, aching, desperate to press up against anything Ren will give him.

Tokiya shudders out a breath.

“Is… is this the only time I could ask you to stop?”

Ren shakes his head. “You can tell me to stop. Any time you want. I’ll stop.”

Tokiya nods a little, and then again. “Okay. You can keep going.”

Ren smiles. Tenderly, he kisses Tokiya’s mouth and murmurs, “Thanks.”

Tokiya starts laughing at being thanked, and it loosens him up enough for Ren to guide his arms up, to pull his shirt off over his head.

“You too,” Tokiya says. Ren grins as he obliges, tossing his shirt toward the head of Tokiya’s bed. Again, Tokiya can’t help but laugh, this time at the flick of Ren’s wrist as he throws the shirt.

Suddenly, everything is easy. He’s laughing, and Ren is warm and close, and the press of their chests is electric. Tokiya lets Ren sink over him, wraps his arms around Ren’s shoulders to feel his skin. Ren smiles against his mouth. He drags his hands over Tokiya’s chest, down his stomach.

Tokiya jumps a little, swallowing a ticklish yelp. Ren grins, spreading his fingers. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s - ah, it’s okay,” Tokiya breathes. His jaw works as Ren slides off his lap and onto the floor on his knees. “It’s — it’s.”

“Shh,” says Ren, rubbing Tokiya’s knees. “I’m right here.”

He leans in, kissing the center of Tokiya’s chest. Tokiya’s heart jumps under Ren’s mouth.

Wonderingly, Tokiya murmurs, “You’re serious.”

“I _adore_ you. I’m not lying.” Ren curls his hands over Tokiya’s hips and rubs his thumbs over the wings of his hipbones. “And I really, really want to get into your pants.”

Tokiya snorts into his hand. “Ren!”

“I do! What else would I be doing down here?” Ren grins up at him, completely at ease. His mouth is red from kisses, his hair mussed, his eyes bright.

In this moment, Tokiya believes him. He affects a sigh and says, “Okay. Just. If you’re sure.”

He almost manages it without shaking.

Ren smiles at him and says, “I’m sure. I’ve got you.”

Tokiya swallows. Still, Ren waits for him to nod before moving, sliding his palm over Tokiya’s thigh to cup him through his jeans. The loudest sound in the room is Tokiya slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise he makes. Ren squeezes him, pushes his knees further apart and pops the button on his pants.

Tokiya’s heart leaps into his throat, thundering, drowning out the slow, metal ticking of Ren drawing his zipper down. It’s torturous, but Ren leans in and breathes hot over the cotton he bares. He looks up along the line of Tokiya’s body and smiles, pleased.

Tokiya arches at the first touch of Ren’s tongue, even muted through the fabric of his briefs. Ren hums softly to him and mouths at his cock, moving slow, letting him get used to it. Tokiya tries to keep his hips still, one hand tight over his mouth and the other hanging, useless, by his side. Tokiya tries, but he knows he’s failing.

Ren nuzzles the skin just above his waistband and asks, “Still okay?”

Tokiya nods, not trusting his voice. Ren hums. He moves his hands to Tokiya’s hips, coaxing, “Lift.” When Tokiya does, he slips Tokiya’s briefs down just far enough to bare his cock, then lets him settle again.

“Oh,” Ren breathes, reverent, pressing one hand to Tokiya’s stomach. The other, he curls around the base of Tokiya’s cock and sighs with him.

Tokiya can’t tear his eyes from Ren, almost doesn’t hear him when he murmurs, “You can hold onto my head.”

When Tokiya threads shaky fingers through Ren’s hair, Ren smiles.

Ren squeezes hard at the base of his cock, hard enough to hurt, and holds it tight as he tongues a filthy, open-mouthed kiss over the head. It’s only that hint of pain that keeps Tokiya from coming on the spot. He sucks in a sharp gasp and fists his hand in Ren’s hair.

Ren shudders out a sigh and closes his eyes as he takes Tokiya deeper. From there, it’s nothing but the slick writhe of Ren’s tongue resolving into a rhythm as he moves. Ren’s hand presses firm to Tokiya’s stomach, but he lets Tokiya roll his hips, guides him.

Tokiya is pliant under him, too busy trying to keep from shaking to pieces. He knows he’s moaning, can only hope his hand is muffling it enough. But Ren’s too perfect below him, methodically taking him apart, pushing every motion that makes his legs shake. He can feel his body tensing, drawing up tight.

Through his fingers, he says, “Ren.” He tries to whisper it, but it escapes him cracked and high. It’s all he manages before he comes, just the act of saying someone’s name setting him off. He shudders, his hand so tight in Ren’s hair.

Slowly, slowly, Tokiya comes down. He blinks the stars out of his eyes, forces his fingers to uncurl. He pets shakily through Ren’s hair to apologize for pulling.

Still, he arches when Ren runs his palms up Tokiya’s thighs. He’d been so tense, hadn’t even realized it.

Ren kneads his hips, leans in to kiss up over his stomach as he works his hands up Tokiya’s back. “There,” he whispers, nuzzling Tokiya’s chest. “You were so good, Ichi. So good.”

Tokiya shivers, wrapping both his arms around Ren’s shoulders. “Ren.”

Ren gives him a crooked little smile. “I’ve got you.”

“You,” Tokiya breathes out. He tries to say more, has to catch his breath.

Ren just hums. He radiates patience, absolutely no pressure.

Tokiya wonders how much of that is Ren. How much of that is Masato.

“What about you?” Tokiya manages, trying to lean back to look down at him.

Ren pulls back, blinking up at him. “You don’t have to do anything.“

“No. No, if. If I — I mean, _can_ I touch you?” Suddenly Tokiya is less sure. The original proposition had left him unbalanced, and Ren’s refusal to push could actually be a refusal entirely.

His shoulders relax when Ren laughs. “Yeah. Yes. Please.” Ren squeezes him, asks, “Where do you want me?”

Faced with far too many options and no plan, Tokiya short-circuits. His mouth drops open, soundless, and all he can do is shake his head.

“Okay,” says Ren, taking pity. “First, lift up a little.” He leans back away from Tokiya to get his hips off the chair. With the sort of familiarity that comes from experience, Ren slips Tokiya’s briefs and pants back up, tucking him in. Tokiya can’t help but jolt at his touch, too sensitive. Ren just does up the zipper and button, then kisses Tokiya’s stomach to punctuate a job well done.

“Ren,” says Tokiya, almost shyly.

“It’s for safety,” says Ren, pushing himself off the floor and sliding right into Tokiya’s lap like he belongs there. “How about this?”

Again, Ren is warm and close. It’s comforting, in its way, but Tokiya can only imagine how he’s aching. Summoning his courage, Tokiya reaches out and lays his palm over the bulge in Ren’s jeans.

Ren braces his arms on the back of Tokiya’s chair and hisses through his teeth. He bows his head low so his mouth is level with Tokiya’s ear.

Tokiya traces Ren’s fly and whispers, “This is good.”

Ren’s idiotic designer jeans are button-fly. He wears nothing beneath them. Tokiya almost laughs. With one good tug, the entire thing comes open, like pulling a ripcord on a parachute.

The thought is apt. Tokiya feels a little like he’s falling.

He turns to look at Ren, ends up pressing his face to Ren’s throat. “Tell me what to do.”

Ren huffs, licks the shell of Tokiya’s ear. “You want general or detailed?”

Tokiya snorts and drags his fingernails through the hair at the base of Ren’s cock. Ren’s stomach tightens, so Tokiya can see every muscle shifting.

Shaky and soft, Ren whispers, “Don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” Tokiya murmurs back to him, with absolutely no remorse. Ren’s body is mesmerizing. In a rush, Tokiya realizes he wants to make him tense and twitch, to find every crack in his control and tease them open.

Later. That’s for later. For now, he reaches into Ren’s jeans with both hands and works his cock free. Ren shudders out a soft breath, his mouth pressed just above Tokiya’s ear. He whispers, “Good, yeah. Gimme your hand.”

Tokiya pauses, unsure, but Ren catches Tokiya’s hand at the wrist. Ren pulls back enough to look Tokiya in the eye as he licks wet, hot stripes over Tokiya’s palm, taking his time with each finger. Breath catching in his chest, Tokiya stares. The fingers of his dry hand move on their own, wrapping around the base of Ren’s cock and squeezing in time with the strokes of Ren’s tongue.

Ren’s hips jerk, his eyes going heavy-lidded. Tokiya thrills at the power of it, at the shivery-wet heat of Ren’s mouth growing more needy. Maybe this is why Ren looks so pleased to be on his knees. Tokiya wants that, his complete confidence.

With a light nip to the inside of Tokiya’s wrist, Ren pulls his hand away and guides it down. Tokiya lets him, lets Ren curl his hand over his cock. And still, though he’d practically done it himself, Ren hisses at the slick press of Tokiya’s skin, rolling his hips.

Dazed, Tokiya breathes, “Do that again.”

Ren moans soft and low, holding Tokiya’s hand still so he can thrust into it. Tokiya’s fingers twitch tighter, start moving with him. Together, they find a rhythm. Tokiya can’t take his eyes off Ren, following every movement of his body. Ren writhes, confined by his jeans still high on his thighs, by the edges of the chair. His hand over Tokiya’s is sure, guiding, showing him how to move, to twist his wrist.

Ren leans forward and presses his mouth to Tokiya’s ear. “Ichi, oh, you’re good. You’re so good. I wanted to tell you, before, I wanted to tell you how you _taste_.”

Tokiya shivers, tipping his head to let Ren lick a clumsy path down his throat. Ren’s hips stutter, his breath coming rough.

“Tell me you’ll let me blow you again, Ichi, it was so hot. So hot. You don’t even know how gorgeous you are.”

Tokiya moans, he can’t help it. Ren kisses him hard, pressing him back into the chair. Even though Ren is only grinding into his hand, Tokiya can’t help but feel fucked. He opens up for Ren, licks over his lip. Ren’s kisses grow shallow and needy, more breath than touch, matching the sharp stuttering of his hips.

Ren’s so close, right on the edge. Like this, he’s so pretty, sweat sheening his chest, barely able to open his eyes. Tokiya slides his free hand into Ren’s hair and holds tight, keeping him there. “Ren,” he breathes, “Ren, please.”

That’s all it takes. Ren comes, gasping, curling forward over Tokiya’s hand. Tokiya shivers with him, tugging his hair so he can see Ren’s face. He gets a glimpse of Ren’s expression, of Ren’s brows drawn together almost in pain, of Ren digging his teeth hard into his lip, before Ren presses their foreheads together for support.

Ren’s hand goes tight on Tokiya’s wrist and he whispers, “Okay, enough.”

Only then does Tokiya realize his hand is sticky, that Ren’s shaking.

He releases his grip, feels Ren laugh.

“Still okay, Ichi?” Ren asks, soft.

Tokiya’s first response is to nod, but he takes a moment, assessing. He’s jumped headfirst into sex, not only with Ren but with Masato. Masato, who is _still waiting for them_. Masato, who plans to - to blow him.

Tokiya shivers, head to toe.

“I am,” he says.

Ren smiles. “Okay. Good. Because, uh. _Damn_.”

“Oh my God,” says Tokiya, and a giddy laugh works its way out of his chest.

Ren’s smile broadens into a grin. He gives Tokiya a quick kiss before sliding off of his lap.

The sudden rush of cold makes Tokiya look down. He almost expects to be marked where Ren’s thighs pressed into his. But no, all he’s got is - is his hand, spattered with come.

Tokiya frowns at it, considering. If he didn’t hear Ren spit before, then he might as well try it. Right?

Tentatively, Tokiya sucks at the side of his palm. Bitter, disgusting — he grimaces, and Ren throws his head back and laughs.

“Don’t push yourself, okay?” says Ren, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box by Otoya’s bed. He scrubs at his belly, then comes to clean Tokiya’s hand for him.

“But you—“

“It’s an acquired taste.” Ren has the audacity to wink at him.

Tokiya slumps back in the chair when Ren lets him go. “Oh. Okay.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, hears Ren pitch the tissues into the trash, then undo the lock on the door. Tokiya’s eyes snap open.

“Ikki’s gonna be back soon, right?” asks Ren, pulling his shirt on as he crosses back to Tokiya. “No rush, just avoiding questions.”

He tosses Tokiya’s shirt to him, then leans over him to open the window.

Tokiya sighs a little, turning his shirt right-side out. “No, no. He’s filming that variety show with Aijima.”

“Oh, that. They’re so cute,” Ren comments, sitting on the end of Tokiya’s bed. He runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it down. When his hands fall, he looks again like himself, maybe a little tired but poised. There’s nothing in him that gives him away.

Tokiya pulls his shirt on and hopes he can cover half as well as Ren. The adrenaline is finally ebbing, leaving him feeling languid. He can still hear Ren’s desperate breath in his ear. He tries burning that memory into his mind, hard as he can.

Absently, Tokiya continues the conversation. “Yeah. He’s enjoying it.”

“So then you can have a minute,” says Ren, rolling out his shoulders. He flops backward onto Tokiya’s bed and lets out a sigh.

Again, Tokiya is struck with the urge to laugh. Ren is so casual about it.

“I think I can have as long as I want,” he counters.

Ren lifts his head. “Yeah, that.”

Tokiya nods a little. He turns to look out the window. The breeze cools his face, grounds him a little.

Part of him is panicked. That was so, so fast. Who was he, agreeing to it at every pause? Who _is_ he, with this knowledge, now, of himself and of Ren? Who is this person, this Tokiya, who now must somehow get his legs under him and walk beside Ren into something even bigger?

“You can still say you want to stop,” says Ren, cutting into his thoughts.

Tokiya turns from the window, to find Ren still on his back.

“It’s okay,” Ren continues. “Don’t forget, you can.”

Tokiya chews his lip. “How would you feel if I did?”

“I’m not gonna guilt you.”

“Answer the question, Ren.” Tokiya surprises himself with how firm his voice is.

Ren laughs, small and quiet. He’s silent after that, for so long that Tokiya looks away from him, taking it as rejection.

Slowly, Ren says the word, testing it out. “Obliterated.”

Tokiya swallows. “Was that true when you first asked me?”

“No. No, it’s changed. It’s bigger now,” Ren says.

“It was definitely the worst way I’ve _ever_ been asked out.”

Ren laughs, but there’s something forced about it. “I’m not that smooth without a script. You know that, Ichi.”

Tokiya pushes himself up from his chair, takes a moment to tuck it in at his desk. His legs protest at finally moving, but it’s a welcome twinge.

He leans over Ren without touching him, studies his face.

Ren doesn’t move.

“I like you back, if you haven’t figured it out,” says Tokiya. “And. And I want to talk to Masa. But I don’t want to stop.”

Slowly, softly, Ren smiles.

“Can I… text Masa, then? Because, uh.”

“Oh, hell. Yeah, okay, yes,” says Tokiya straightening. “What are you going to say?”

Ren sits up a little, pulling his phone from his pants pocket. “Here, sit with me.”

Tokiya sits on the bed and leans his shoulder against Ren’s. He looks over Ren’s shoulder as Ren taps out a message.

_everything’s good - ETA 10 min._

Tokiya lets out a breath, putting his cheek on Ren’s shoulder. “You text like a businessman,” he murmurs.

Ren snorts, and shows the reply from Masato as it comes in.

_Understood_.

“He started it,” says Ren, grinning.

Tokiya gives a helpless little laugh. “Looks like.”

Ren reaches up, pushing imaginary glasses up his nose. “Yes, understood. I’ll file it in triplicate before close of business.”

Tokiya reaches around Ren to mimic straightening a tie and smoothing it down Ren’s chest. “Does that make him the boss, or you?”

Ren leans back against Tokiya, tucking his nose against Tokiya’s jaw. “Maybe we’re waiting for a new man willing to think outside the box.”

“Ulgh,” says Tokiya, and Ren starts laughing. “You want a self-motivated go-getter?”

“Mm, able to work well independently _and_ as part of a team,” Ren agrees.

Tokiya groans, shaking his head. “Okay, you’re much better at that than I am. I can barely listen to you.”

“Don’t give up so soon, Ichi! You were doing well.” Ren sits up, turning to face him. “Do we need to switch metaphors?”

Tokiya gives him a flat look. “Ren—“

“Because I’m on duty now, to get the package to the _rendez-vous_ point. Sir.” Ren grins, his tongue poking between his teeth.

“You…have a mission?” Tokiya ventures. He can’t help blushing, being called ‘sir’.

Ren leans in, licking his lips. “Yessir. Critical drop, bringing relief to stranded allies.”

Tokiya swallows, eyes drawn to Ren’s mouth. “Sounds urgent.”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve been pinned for a long time, unable to move, no communications. They’re getting desperate.”

“P-pinned?” Tokiya echoes, disbelief in his tone. Surely Ren couldn’t mean it literally, couldn’t have left Masato tied up. (Soft, black cloths twined around his wrists, binding his hands together behind his back. Another tied just tight enough around his eyes to blind him and hold him steady, anchored to the bedframe, his head pulled back. Just enough slack to writhe.

No, no, he can text, it’s not like that.)

But Ren is staring hungrily like he can read Tokiya’s thoughts, his voice husky as he murmurs, “Not yet.”

Tokiya swallows hard. “We… we can go.”

Ren’s grin is quick and sharp. He pushes himself to his feet and says, “If you’re ready.”

With a steadying breath, Tokiya gets up and nods.

Ren leans in and whispers, “Shining Saotome, naked, covered in raw egg.”

Tokiya gags loudly, coughing. The mental image is equal parts nonsensical and disturbing, and whatever flame his libido had begun to stoke is immediately extinguished.

Ren claps him on the shoulder. “Helps, right? Last week, it was horseradish.”

“You are objectively the worst human being,” Tokiya moans, holding his stomach.

“Aw, Ichi, I’m wounded,” says Ren, toeing into his shoes. “Think of my feelings.”

“I can’t think of anything. My head hurts,” says Tokiya, still trying to shake the image of Raw-Egg-Shining from behind his eyes.

Ren winks. “I know a good cure. C’mon.”

With a laugh he tries to hide, Tokiya follows Ren out into the hall. The smell is different, chemicals from the fountain in the lobby wafting up the stairs. Ren moves with easy confidence, practiced nonchalance. Tokiya follows his lead and finds it’s pretty simple, falling into step.

Still, he’s immensely grateful that the only person they pass in the hall is Syo, the one least likely to start a conversation with them. All he does is smile and nod, and Tokiya finds it in himself to nod back.

For all that Tokiya’s nerves are coming back, he knows they have to have nothing on the way Masato must feel. And his first glimpse of Masato through the door to his and Ren’s dorm proves him right.

Masato is sitting on his side of the dorm, knelt at his low table, apparently deep in contemplation over a cup of tea. He doesn’t even turn his head when the door opens, but the fall of his hair gives away tiny tremors.

“I’m home,” Ren calls, practiced.

“Welcome back,” says Masato, quiet.

“Thanks for having me,” says Tokiya, to continue it, maybe to get Masato to smile.

Instead, he gets a wary look, still colored with disbelief.

As Ren closes and locks the door, Tokiya comes to kneel opposite Masato at the table. He rests his hands on the table, palm down, leaning into the tension of the moment. He moves slowly, like he’s trying not to startle him.

By contrast, Ren slides down right behind Masato, just barely touching his thigh to Masato’s hip.

Softly, Tokiya says, “I want to talk to you, Masa.”

Masato visibly relaxes. “I want to listen,” he responds.

Tokiya smiles a little, a reflexive quirk of his mouth. “Okay.” He spreads his fingers on the table. “Ren told me that the two of you - _both_ of you want me.”

He waits for Masato to react, gets a quiet nod. From behind Masato, Ren smiles.

“If we can be equals, then I accept,” Tokiya continues. “If the three of us can really be that. The three of us. No competition.”

“What does that mean?” Masato asks.

Tokiya chews his lip. “That means… nobody sits on feeling jealous, and nobody moves faster than they want to. And.” He thinks fast, trying to come up with the rest. There should be more, shouldn’t there?

“And none of us should have to hide, either. Not with one another,” says Masato. His tone is quiet, but he looks Tokiya in the eye.

Tokiya thinks of an empty practice room, a piano. Rise, fall, resolution.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “All of that.”

Masato lets out a soft breath. A pretty blush rises up his neck to his cheeks, staining them red. “How quickly do you want to move, Ichinose?”

It’s not an accusation. Tokiya wonders exactly how much Masato knows about what he’s done with Ren. From the way that red flush is moving from Masato’s neck down his chest, Tokiya has the feeling they’d discussed it beforehand.

“I want to start with a kiss,” Tokiya manages, curling his hands together on the tabletop. “And figure out the rest from there.”

Masato slips out from his seat behind the table, moving gracefully to kneel within Tokiya’s reach. “I’d like that,” he says. His eyes are so intense, his desire like a force, drawing Tokiya in.

Their lips meet. Tokiya isn’t sure who started it, only knows Masato’s fingers feather over his cheek. He tastes like nerves, like he’s brushed his teeth twenty times, like he swiped balm over his lips just before the door opened.

Where Ren’s kisses were all finesse, a current Tokiya didn’t want to fight, Masato is a wave. His kisses crash down over Tokiya, passionate and drowning, sucking him in. He’s so quiet, but he _demands_ attention, wrings it out of Tokiya with his skillful tongue. Tokiya feels Masato’s need like his own ache and longs to fill it, pulling Masato up onto his knees, molding their bodies together.

Masato comes alive with the press of their bodies, clutching Tokiya’s shoulders. He takes everything Tokiya will give him, sweetly tipping his head to let him in. Tokiya drags his tongue over the roof of Masato’s mouth to feel his full-body shudder. It echoes through Tokiya, going right to his groin.

Tokiya runs his thumb over Masato’s throat to feel his Adam’s apple bob. His skin is so soft, betraying his racing heartbeat just beneath the surface. Tokiya has to taste it. He pulls back from Masato’s mouth with a slick pop, only giving himself a second to take in Masato’s face before pressing his lips to the pulse point at the side of his neck.

He can feel every beat of Masato’s heart, the way his breath stutters at a flick of his tongue.

And when he opens his eyes, he can see Ren leaned back on one elbow, palming himself through his pants. Ren winks, teeth dug into his lip. _Don’t mind me._

How could he? Ren’s watching, probably all too aware that Tokiya’s trying all Ren’s moves out for himself on Masato. Instead of feeling like an amateur, Ren’s approval spurs Tokiya on. He closes his eyes to focus, sucks as hard as he dares on the sensitive curve where Masato’s pale neck meets his shoulder.

Masato arches, clutches tighter to Tokiya’s shoulders. Tokiya feels himself smiling as he pulls back, examining his work. No marks, just the slick-shine trail his tongue followed over Masato’s skin. He pushes Masato’s hair back from his forehead and breathes, “Masa.”

Masato’s eyes flutter open, deep blue. “What?”

“How quickly do you want to move?” Tokiya looks down at the way they’re pressed together, chest to hip.

Masato shivers, then sits back, getting a little distance. His hands are still on Tokiya’s shoulders, only now they’re to hold him back. He bows his head. “Faster than you do, I think.”

Tokiya curls his hands around Masato’s wrists. “Ask me."

“Ichinose,” says Masato. His jaw works around the words, his fingers flexing on Tokiya’s shoulders. “Jinguuji offered to help. He said he’d hold you for me.”

Tokiya looks past Masato again, to where Ren looks positively delighted.

“Hold me for what?” Tokiya asks, a shaky whisper.

“In case you buck,” says Masato, hushed, his whole face burning.

If he weren’t on his knees, they might buckle. Summoning his strength, Tokiya reaches out, tips Masato’s face up toward him. He cradles Masato’s face in both hands. He breathes, “If you want to. _Only_ if you want to.”

“So much,” Masato whispers, his hands fisting on Tokiya’s shoulders.

Before Tokiya can even respond, Ren is there, wrapping his arms around Masato from behind. “Listen to you,” he murmurs, “God, I’m so proud. That was so good.”

Masato takes one hand from Tokiya’s shoulder to cover his face. “No.”

“Yes,” says Ren, kissing the top of Masato’s head. “Right? Ichi, he did alright, didn’t he.”

Tokiya sighs a little, smiling. He takes Masato’s other hand from his shoulder and kisses his knuckles. “He did.”

Masato peeks out from behind his hand, taking a shuddery breath. “Ichinose.”

“Could you use my name, please?” asks Tokiya, holding Masato’s hand in both of his own.

Shaky, Masato nods, but he doesn’t say anything.

Ren hums, squeezing Masato. “Ichi, give him a break.”

“You’re okay, right?” Tokiya asks Masato, squeezing his hand.

Masato nods, leaning into Ren. Then he sits up a little better, on his own. “I’m okay.”

“Here,” says Ren, hooking two fingers in Tokiya’s waistband. “C’mere, let’s take care of this part.”

Tokiya obliges, finds himself pulled back toward Ren’s side of the dorm. Ren sits on his sofa and pulls Tokiya’s back flush with his chest, working Tokiya’s shirt off as they settle. Ren kisses the back of his neck, guiding Tokiya’s hands up and back to grip Ren’s hair. It leaves him vulnerable, tipped back against Ren. Tokiya’s hands run through Ren’s hair, seeking purchase. Ren strokes over his sides, open-palmed.

For all that Ren’s hands are on him, Tokiya watches Masato.

Masato seems steadier, the bright redness of his blush dying down from the height of shame. Instead, he follows Ren and Tokiya with his sharp gaze, his expression growing slowly hungry.

Ren gives Tokiya’s nipples a sharp tug, purring when Tokiya gasps. He twists just on the verge of too painful, then drags his hands down over Tokiya’s belly. “Let’s get those pants off, hm?”

Tokiya’s head falls back onto Ren’s shoulder. He just lifts his hips, giving Ren permission.

Ren takes it, undoing Tokiya’s pants and sliding his hands down under the waistband to grope his ass as he guides them down. He lingers at the soft curve where Tokiya’s thighs meet the underside of his ass, tracing circles so light they almost tickle.

“Hijiri,” he breathes. “Come help me.”

Tokiya feels rather than sees Masato cross the room. So gently, Masato guides Tokiya’s pants and briefs off his legs, down to the floor. Tokiya reaches for him, pulls him up into a crushing kiss. He startles, so naked against the insistent brush of their clothes. Ren’s jeans scrape the backs of his legs. The soft fabric of Masato’s shirt brushes his chest. Masato stays too far to give him any relief, just the barest whisper of cloth over Tokiya’s skin.

When Masato pulls away to press gentle kisses down the line of his throat, Tokiya nearly sobs. His cock aches, trapped helpless between them. He’s grateful for Ren’s hand sliding over his mouth to catch his noises as they hitch louder. Masato drops kisses around the base of Tokiya’s throat, soft as sighs.

“Tokiya,” he whispers, lifting his head. His smile as he says it is a little disbelieving, like a kid trying out a curse. He kisses the back of Ren’s hand. Ren moves his hand out of the way, baring Tokiya’s mouth. Again, Masato ducks his head, sucks gently at Tokiya’s lower lip.

Tokiya lifts his head, catches Masato’s lips with his own. The kiss is so brief before Tokiya has to arch back, drawn up by Ren teasing his nipples. His hands clutch uselessly at Masato’s shoulder, but he tips his head to bite hard just under Ren’s jaw.

“Oh,” says Masato. “Jinguuji.”

Ren chuckles a little, smoothing his thumbs over Tokiya’s nipples in slow circles. “He’s saying I’m cruel.”

“You are,” Tokiya moans, “you _asshole_.”

“You aren’t saying ‘stop’,” Ren murmurs, tracing his nails over Tokiya’s chest.

“No, I’m not,” says Tokiya, grinding pointedly back into Ren’s lap. “But you’re making it very difficult to focus on Masa and that’s not fair.”

Ren hisses, his grip dropping to Tokiya’s hips. “Sorry.”

“You aren’t,” says Masato. “But you promised you’d hold him for me, Jinguuji. Even you can do that correctly.”

Tokiya opens his mouth, but it’s immediately covered by one of Ren’s hands. With the other Ren presses low on Tokiya’s belly, sliding just above the base of his cock. Tokiya shivers, nips at the finger Ren slips into his mouth.

Primly, Masato says, “Thank you.”

Ren hums, pressing down on Tokiya’s tongue. “My pleasure.”

At Masato’s dry look, Tokiya huffs a laugh and bites Ren’s finger again. Tokiya reaches out, cupping the side of Masato’s face, gentle and warm. Masato melts.

“Tokiya,” he whispers, affectionate, reverent. “Jinguuji is going to be gone for the weekend, starting on Friday night.”

“Hey!” Ren cries, and Tokiya laughs.

He turns his face away from Ren’s hand and says, “That serves you right.”

“Oh, now who’s cruel,” Ren says.

“I would have found out sooner or later,” Tokiya says.

Masato leans in and catches Ren’s chin. “Don’t sulk,” he chides, and pulls Ren into a kiss. It starts soft and deepens until Tokiya can feel Ren’s breath hitch. Tokiya can only watch, his head leaned back onto Ren’s shoulder. Masato is close enough that his shirt brushes Tokiya’s chest, but even now the only touch he’s getting is the pressure of Ren’s hand on his belly. It’s maddening.

Tokiya’s breathing harder than Ren when Masato pulls back. Masato catches him, gives him the kiss he’d been denied before, full of heat and promise. Tokiya barely has a moment to catch his breath before Ren turns his head to kiss him, pulling him back with a grip on his neck.

It’s dizzying, going from one mouth to another, from Masato’s passion to Ren’s breathless need. And more, as Masato kisses the curve of Tokiya’s shoulder in what little warning he can before taking hold of Tokiya’s cock.

Tokiya moans into Ren’s mouth out of shock, almost misses Masato whispering _I can do this_ to himself. Ren purrs, teasing at Tokiya’s lips with his tongue. He clamps his hand down hard over Tokiya’s mouth in time with the first swipe of Masato’s tongue, turns Tokiya’s head so he can see Masato guide the head of his cock into his mouth.

“He’s figuring it out, too,” Ren whispers, his mouth pressed to Tokiya’s ear. “You taste so good, Ichi. I’m actually jealous.”

Tokiya’s hips twitch. Ren presses hard on his belly. Masato’s eyes come open, gazing up along the line of Tokiya’s body. His tongue flutters. Tokiya stretches his legs further apart, pinned by Ren’s hand.

Dark and quiet, Ren keeps whispering. “Do you know my favorite part? You could move if you really wanted. I know you’re strong enough. But you’re letting us hold you like this.” He grins, catching Tokiya’s earlobe between his teeth.

Tokiya can only nod, has to admit that he’d rather be under Ren’s hands than away from them. He’s dizzy with it, with the way Ren spreads his fingers and digs in. Ren is solid ground, the control Tokiya can’t summon on his own, the firm pressure that keeps him gasping through his nose.

Masato sucks at him, working one hand at the base of Tokiya’s cock. With the other, he cups Tokiya’s balls and rubs just behind them. Heat blooms in Tokiya’s belly, working a low, helpless whine out of his throat.

“Look what you’re doing to him,” Ren says, pitched louder for Masato to hear. “Did you hear that?”

Masato nods without taking Tokiya out of his mouth. With each flick of his tongue, Tokiya jerks, slouching further in Ren’s lap. Masato takes advantage of it, rubbing insistent circles between his legs. It’s so hot, Tokiya can’t help but shiver. Without his voice, he can only beg with his body, arching toward Masato until Ren pulls him back down.

Too soon, too soon, Tokiya lifts an unsteady hand to touch Masato’s cheek. He gasps under Ren’s hand, his head falling forward.

Masato hums, pulling away with one last kiss. He finishes Tokiya with his hand, his gaze locked on Tokiya’s face. His intensity is a pressure all its own, and Tokiya’s breath catches in his throat before he comes, shaking apart under Masato’s attention.

Ren releases his mouth and Tokiya sucks in a great breath, chest heaving. Ren whispers a reverent, “Fuck,” sliding his arm over Tokiya’s shoulder to hold him up.

Masato leans his cheek against Tokiya’s knee. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “Tokiya?”

Tokiya reaches out, petting through his hair. “Masa,” he murmurs.

Slowly, Masato rises up onto his knees, leaning over Tokiya. He carefully holds one hand well out of the way, but he rests the other on Tokiya’s chest.

Tokiya cups Masato’s face in both hands and kisses him, shaky little presses of his lips. He feels so wrung out, cradled between them, pliant and shivery. Masato’s lips are swollen, so red, but he returns the kisses. He touches Tokiya gently, stroking over his jaw, letting him pull back to catch his breath.

Ren rubs Tokiya’s chest, soothing. “Got you, still got you.”

Tokiya sags, leaning back into Ren. He’s exhausted, slowly going limp.

Ren laughs a little, softly. “You’ve had a big day, huh? You gonna pass out on us?”

Masato rises, crossing the room to wipe his hand on a few tissues. He looks over his shoulder at Tokiya, a flush still high on his cheeks.

“No,” says Tokiya. “I just. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I want to see.”

Masato pulls the comforter from Ren’s bed and throws it over the vacant cushions on the couch. “Here.”

“Genius,” Ren agrees, and shifts Tokiya from his lap. Between the two of them, they wrap Tokiya in the blanket, bundled at the end of the sofa.

The second Ren’s hands are free, he works his pants open and down with a hiss. Tokiya winces in sympathy. Ren’s jeans are tight on a good day, but he’d just spent a small eternity with Tokiya’s weight keeping him further confined.

Masato gives a disapproving, “Tch.”

“It _hurt_ ,” Ren whines, pulling his shirt off over his head. “You have no idea.” He gingerly runs his fingertips over his cock and closes his eyes tight.

Masato chews his lip, then twines his fingers with Ren’s, stroking over Ren’s cock. “Oh. That was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”

“Worth it,” Ren gasps, grinning like he’s won a prize. “More than worth it.”

Masato starts to drop to his knees, but Ren catches him by the collar, murmuring, “No, baby, no. Ichi hasn’t even _seen_ you yet. Want to talk about cruel, keeping that from him.”

The blush on Masato’s cheeks intensifies, his eyes darting toward Tokiya.

From his blanket cocoon, Tokiya murmurs, “Please.”

Without waiting for a response, Ren hooks his hands in the waistband of Masato’s pants and yanks. In two swift movements, he’s got Masato bared and in his lap, legs spread on either side of Ren’s. Masato gasps, his hands catching Ren’s wrists and gripping white-knuckled. Ren just smiles, pulling his own arms over his head, forcing Masato to lean in.

Masato is pale as the moon, bends like a willow branch. His hands flex and release, so Ren can work his wrists free and push Masato’s shirt up his belly. Ren strokes Masato’s cock with his other hand, rubbing his thumb over the head. He’s so familiar, so easy with Masato’s body. But there’s an undercurrent of haste to it, moving while Masato’s defenses are broken, keeping him unbalanced and vulnerable.

Tokiya swallows, dry tongue working against the roof of his mouth. He wants to know what it would take to get Masato to relax, to give in without a tactical advance.

Ren grabs Masato’s ass, hauls him in closer as Masato shivers, grinding their cocks together.

Masato’s hands clench and release in Ren’s hair, utterly useless. And yet, Masato is exquisitely silent, no noise escaping him past the whisper of his breath. He arches, rocking into Ren, his head falling back.

Between them, Tokiya can see Ren’s hand fisted around both their cocks, the beautiful flush down Masato’s stomach.

Ren mouths sloppy kisses over Masato’s throat, whispers words Tokiya can’t hear. But they make Masato’s eyes snap open and land on Tokiya, make Masato gasp and shudder and come, his mouth falling open.

Tokiya aches, oversensitive, spikes of desire running through him. He wants them, more than his body can handle.

Masato leans away from Ren, gingerly pulling out of range of his hand. Still, Ren flexes his hips, stroking over his cock, his free hand digging hard into the curve of Masato’s hip.

It’s almost calculating, the way Masato watches Ren’s hand. When he moves, it’s fluid, both his hands wrapping around Ren’s neck to hold him perfectly still for a hard, deep kiss. Ren shakes and shakes, coming over his belly, every helpless moan stifled by Masato’s tongue. And still, Masato doesn’t release him, holds him tight by the throat, breathing with him as he comes down.

Ren opens his eyes, dazed and adoring. Masato strokes his thumbs down to Ren’s collarbones, and Ren heaves a sigh.

Some tiny, treacherous part of Tokiya wonders if he’s trespassing on a private moment. Another part wants to know how to get Ren to look like that, like every glib comment has finally escaped him.

Masato says, “You made a mess of my shirt.”

Ren looks down, moving slow, like he’s in water. “You didn’t take it off when you had the chance.”

Masato sighs a little, then curls forward to get his shirt off without touching any of the come on it. He drops it onto Ren’s belly and gives him a perfunctory wipe. “We’re both at fault, I think.”

Ren just hums, completely unfazed. “I’ll take care of it in a second. Let me find my legs.”

Masato’s mouth twitches into a smile. It’s softer, more fond than his voice betrays. “Oh, do take your time.”

“Go keep Ichi warm,” says Ren, swatting his ass.

Masato looks to Tokiya. Tokiya spreads the blanket, offering. Gingerly, Masato slips from Ren’s lap and curls up with Tokiya, resting his cheek on Tokiya’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Tokiya is aware he must look a little stunned. But he nods. “Mm. That was…yeah.”

Masato still has it in himself to blush. He hides his face in Tokiya’s neck.

Ren pushes himself to his feet, hitching his jeans back up over his hips. He doesn’t bother buttoning them. He takes Masato’s shirt to the bathroom sink to rinse it out.

Tokiya closes his eyes. “I think I’m still in shock.”

Masato rests his hand on Tokiya’s chest. “I know what you mean.”

“I… I guess so.” Tokiya shifts, tucking his arms around Masato. “But I like the way you say my name.”

He can feel Masato smile, one of his small, shy smiles. “I like the way you say mine.”

Ren returns, pants open and slung low on his hips. Somehow it’s _still_ a tease.

“There’s not enough room for three on the sofa,” Ren says, taking hold of one end of the comforter. “Come on. Bed.”

Masato rises first, then Tokiya, on legs as shaky as a fawn’s. He nearly stumbles to the bed, lets Masato pull him up.

“Your pants are stupid,” Tokiya mumbles.

Ren laughs, bending to peel them off. He kicks them in the general direction of the rest of their clothes, like it somehow matters.

Masato worms his way into Tokiya’s arms, kisses the middle of his chest.

Ren climbs in behind him, molding Tokiya’s back to his chest. Their legs tangle together, the warm press of Ren’s thigh between Tokiya’s legs and Masato’s bent knee supporting Tokiya’s calf.

The three of them sigh, settling. Tokiya knows there’s more to this. More to say, more to worry about. But Ren’s hand on his hip and Masato’s breath on his neck, Ren’s warmth at his back and the impossible softness of Masato’s skin under his hands, lull him.

Tokiya succumbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...If I have anything to say about it, TBC...


	3. Tokiya Needs More Time Than He Has

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get dinner, and Cecil brings roses.

Tokiya wakes feeling like a stranger in his own skin. The first sensations that come to him aren’t from his own body but from Ren breathing at his back, a rhythm that doesn’t match his own. His chest feels heavy under Ren’s arm. No, all of him is heavy. He’s weighted, his arms curled and pressed up against his chest, his legs trapped in a tangle with Ren’s and Masato’s.

He drags his eyes open. Masato is watching him, drowsy. It’s the same pressure, the same attention as before, but softer. For now, his hunger is sated, his need satisfied.

Perhaps Tokiya needs to not think of his friends this way. As memories come back to him, though, it’s inevitable. He can’t change the power Masato’s gaze has over him, any more than he could change the rhythm of his own heart.

Masato curls one of his hands with Tokiya’s. He whispers, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Tokiya whispers back.

“He’ll sleep through anything,” Masato whispers, nodding toward Ren. “You can move without disturbing him.”

Tokiya takes stock of his position. He starts with stretching his legs. When Ren doesn’t so much as sigh, he rolls out his shoulders and adjusts to better lay within the cage of Ren’s arms. Ren responds by tightening his arm around Tokiya and snoring into his hair.

Masato bites his lips. “I should have warned you.”

Tokiya leans back into Ren until he’s got a little more room to breathe. When Ren relents and flops onto his back, Tokiya huffs. “There.”

Masato squeezes Tokiya’s hand. It’s so chaste, so sweet. Tokiya’s chest clenches up.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” he whispers.

“Define ‘this’,” says Masato.

Tokiya pauses, unsteady. He’s not sure if he has the right idea, now, what ‘this’ is. Friends with benefits?

Masato squeezes his hand. “I can go first.” With Tokiya’s nod, he says, “I count you as one of my closest friends. I care for you, very much.” As he talks, Masato looks earnestly into Tokiya’s eyes, a plea returning to his expression. “Please understand. I’m grateful to have you in my life. I don’t want to be without you.”

Masato takes a calming breath, his shoulders rising.

“If I’m being honest, I. I began to desire you before I ever wanted Jinguuji.” Masato ducks his head, pink coloring his cheeks. “I think he knew it better than I did.”

“So we’re friends,” says Tokiya, his stomach sinking a little. It feels like rejection, even with Masato’s hand in his.

“I’ll give my heart to both of you, if you’ll let me,” Masato whispers. “I didn’t know I could feel this way about someone.”

“Masa—“

“And,” says Masato quickly, cutting him off, “I know we surprised you. Jinguuji has all the tact of a battering ram. So. So, you should have time to think about it.”

Tokiya can’t help but smile. “Ren was… blunt. But I think you put a lot on the line. Both of you. And you did it for a reason.”

“Multiple. Many reasons.”

Tokiya chuckles. “Many reasons. Despite how objectively _stupid_ this is.”

Masato nods, looking more amused than chided. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“I want to know how you two decided to do this in the first place. I’m not sure dating is even the word for it.”

“It’s not, is it?” Masato agrees. “May I tell you a little later? I… I’d like to spare Jinguuji the retelling.”

Tokiya blinks, turns to look over his shoulder. Ren is still asleep, his face turned away to press into the pillow. The cords of his neck stand out against the soft fall of his hair.

“Is it that bad?” he whispers.

Masato just hums. When Tokiya turns to him, he’s got a wry smile on. “No, nothing like that.”

“You’re lying to me,” Tokiya murmurs. It’s a thought that slips out into the quiet between them.

Masato cups Tokiya’s cheek. “Please allow me.”

Tokiya huffs through his nose, but he subsides. He’ll trust Masato’s judgment for all that it tastes sour. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry,” says Masato quickly, his eyebrows drawing together and up. “I don’t mean any harm by it.”

Tokiya takes Masato’s wrist in his hand, turns his face to kiss Masato’s palm. The air rushes out of Masato on a sigh so full he slumps.

Ren mumbles, “Y’okay?” He pushes himself up onto his elbow to lean over Tokiya and mouth sleepily at his shoulder. They aren’t coordinated enough to be kisses, not really, and after the second attempt Ren gives up and just noses at Tokiya’s skin.

“To whom is that question directed?” asks Masato. His tone is even, but his eyes have gone a little cagey.

“Nn,” says Ren. Masato relaxes.

Tokiya tips his head, lets Ren nuzzle at his neck and mumble low nothings. How easy it is to let him.

“Ichi,” Ren says, throwing his arm over Tokiya’s waist and pulling him back.

Tokiya doesn’t yelp, but it’s a close thing. “Ren?”

“Thass who I’m askin’,” Ren mumbles. He squeezes. The reaction is immediate.

Tokiya shifts uncomfortably. “I’m okay, but now — Ren, I have to pee, let me up.”

“Whoops. Sorry, sorry,” says Ren, letting him go. But there’s a little laughter in his voice. The look Masato gives him as he passes is amused and sympathetic in equal parts.

Once he’s on his feet, the urge isn’t nearly as bad. Still, Tokiya considers, it’s not as though he’s used to having someone press on his bladder first thing after a nap. What’s more salient as he leaves the bed is his nakedness, and the sudden chill from it. Ren and Masato are very warm, the sheets and blankets a protective cover. Leaving them is like stepping back into reality, and suddenly Tokiya isn’t sure he even remembered to grab his phone, or his keys. He’d followed Ren down the hall like a hyperaroused idiot duckling.

He bends to rifle through his pants, earning a low whistle from the bed.

Tokiya snaps upright, feeling his face heat.

“Jinguuji,” Masato hisses in reproach.

Ren, unrepentant, says, “Nice view.”

Tokiya sighs a little, ducking his head to hide the blush. He finds his phone, and is relieved. No missed calls, no missed messages. But— “Hey, the cafeteria’s going to close in…seventeen minutes.”

In a tangle of sheets and chaos, Masato and Ren haul themselves from the bed and start throwing themselves back into their clothes. Tokiya follows suit, slipping his shirt from Masato’s hands before Masato has a chance to accidentally put it on.

“I thought I set an alarm for that,” Masato apologizes.

All Tokiya can think is _when?_ “You didn’t.”

“The nap was worth it. I feel great,” says Ren, raking his fingers quickly through his hair.

“You’re going to want a brush,” Tokiya warns him, hopping as he gets his jeans up his legs.

Ren laughs. “You too, gorgeous.”

This, this is more normal. Changing quickly, checking one another over for perfection. But, instead of going onstage, they’re going to get dinner. Tokiya follows Ren to the bathroom and takes the brush from him before he can start. With a couple swift strokes, Tokiya sets Ren’s hair to rights and takes care of his own, then says, “Get out.”

Ren laughs but leaves the bathroom, giving Tokiya the privacy to relieve himself. When he comes back out, he finds Ren and Masato fully dressed and polished. Masato has procured a clean shirt for himself and buttoned it up to the collar. As a group, they step into their shoes and leave the dorm.

The air in the hall smells different, chemicals from the fountain in the lobby. Tokiya wonders if they smell like sex, if it’s something tangible or definable that rolls off them like water. He wonders if it’s obvious on him, the change to his body that screams _I’ve come twice in an afternoon_.

He noticed it, back when Masato and Ren first hooked up. And again, as they resolved their differences. Their demeanors changed, something about them relaxed. They became easier with one another. But had it been so explicit, or had Tokiya’s overactive imagination (and, frankly, his insider knowledge) gotten the better of him?

Distracted, Tokiya barely notices they make the walk down to the cafeteria until he’s faced with a menu. He sleepwalks through ordering and ends up seated at a table with Masato beside him. Ren attempts to sit across from them, but Masato says, “Come over here.”

Ren smiles wryly, but sits on Masato’s other side. “Can’t get enough of me?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Masato.

Ren, clearly not having expected acceptance, goes quiet. But he smiles into his water glass.

“Are you really going to be gone all weekend?” Tokiya asks.

Ren hums. “Yep. I’m doing a shoot on location in Hokkaido and they’re putting me up for a couple nights. The leaves have changed up there already and nobody can resist a redhead in the fall.” He winks.

“One might find oneself surprised,” says Masato, so dry.

“ _Nobody_ ,” Ren repeats, popping a piece of steamed broccoli into his mouth.

“Well,” Tokiya says, “I’ll be interested to see the campaign when it comes out. What’s it for?”

“Hair dye,” says Ren, then can’t help but laugh.

Masato frowns. “Are they dying your hair?”

“No! No, no way,” says Ren, waving a hand. “But apparently this color’s pretty popular, and people want it for themselves.”

“It’s a shame Nanami-san doesn’t do commercials,” says Masato contemplatively. “Her color is brighter than yours.”

“And it _only_ works on her,” Ren counters. “She’s one-of-a-kind.”

“That she is,” agrees Tokiya. His own voice gives him pause. For the first time, he doesn’t hear wistfulness in himself. When he thinks of Nanami, he still feels a rush of trust and affection, but the flutter beneath his breastbone is gone. Deliberately, he thinks of the thrill of her small hand in his. Of the breath in her voice, of the curve of her hair over her ear. She’s still lovely to him. She’s still a small bright spot, the first star of the evening.

But her small, perfect hand couldn’t cover his mouth and pin him.

Tokiya shivers. Oh, hell, he _loved_ that, loved being trapped and touched and teased into coming like a puppet on strings. Like they knew him better than he knew himself.

“Are you cold?” asks Masato.

Tokiya glances over, ready to reassure, when he notices. Both Masato and Ren have started to smile. Masato’s is smaller, more disbelieving. Ren is the cat that got the cream.

“He’s flushed,” says Ren. “Maybe he’s getting a fever?”

Masato reaches up, pressing the back of his hand to Tokiya’s forehead. He must be hot, because Masato’s hand is so cool, so soft.

“Eat, Ichi. Then you can go lay down,” says Ren. He almost makes it through the sentence without grinning.

Tokiya sighs when Masato takes his hand back. “I hate you both.”

“Mm-hm,” agrees Masato, completely unperturbed. “Feed a fever.”

“And fast, or we’re gonna get kicked out,” says Ren. His plate is the least touched of all of them, but he appears not to notice the hypocrisy.

Tokiya huffs, but he eats as quickly as he can. They escape before the cafeteria staff can give them any reproachful looks.

The worst is when the staff starts cleaning all the _other_ tables. More than once, Tokiya and Otoya have had to help Cecil understand the nature of that particular hint. Apparently, in the Agnapolean palace, servants were silent, fleet, and _everywhere_. In the Shining Agency dorms the staff were not servants, and, unlike the performers, they had to get home at the end of the day.

The closer he gets to the dorm building, the more uncertain Tokiya becomes. Is he going back to Ren and Masato’s room, or his own? He can’t stay too late with them, even if they want him to.

“You know, Ichi, I’ve got a thermometer,” says Ren, his tone conversational and concerned.

Masato’s eyeroll speaks volumes. Ren says, “What? If he’s not feeling well we should know early.”

“Thank you,” says Tokiya. “Why d’you have one, though?”

“Hijirikawa is really sensitive to the cold.” Ren shrugs. “His body’s first response is to get sick whenever he gets a chill.”

Masato frowns a little. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“Maybe not. You do run cool,” says Tokiya, thinking of Masato’s hand. And the way he always wears at least one layer of clothing more than the rest of them, no matter the weather.

“Yep,” says Ren lightly. “But he warms up real quick when he’s got a fever.”

“You’ve been looking out for one another for a while,” murmurs Tokiya.

“Since we were kids. It goes in phases,” says Masato.

Ren laughs. “Sometimes, we only look out for one another with, uh, one eye.”

“Maybe I am a little warm,” says Tokiya. He’s not laughing, he’s not.

“Here, come in,” Masato says, unlocking the door to his dorm.

It’s so easy to agree. Easy to follow Masato through the door, easy to let Ren close the door behind them. Easy, to laugh when Masato pokes his index finger into Ren’s chest and hisses, “If you say that your ‘thermometer’ is in your pants—“

“Give me a little credit!” Ren whispers.

“I would have been unimpressed,” Tokiya says. He reaches out and catches Masato’s hand before he can poke Ren again. “I’ve come to expect better.”

“And. We’re running out of time and I want to make the most of it,” Ren murmurs. “We can do a full critique later.”

Masato’s hand is soft in Tokiya’s. He turns it to thread their fingers together. “Stop talking, then,” he murmurs, and pulls on Tokiya’s hand. Tokiya gets the hint and leans in so that Masato can kiss him.

Tokiya’s heart thunders in his ears. It’s just as much like sinking as the first time, giving in to the demand of Masato’s mouth. But now, Masato is familiar to him, more confident. He slips his tongue past the seam of Tokiya’s lips like it belongs there, and it’s with surprise that Tokiya lets him in.

Ren hums softly in Tokiya’s ear. “From zero to sixty in no time flat, right?” he whispers. “Means he knows he’s got you.”

Tokiya thinks of Masato’s hands around Ren’s throat. A sound must escape him, because Ren whispers, “Shh, shh.”

Masato presses two fingertips to Tokiya’s jaw, his other hand still twined with Tokiya’s. Those fingers are enough to keep Tokiya’s head tilted just right for him, nothing but a gentle request he can’t help but fulfill. Pleased, Masato sighs, stroking his tongue hungrily over the curves of Tokiya’s mouth. He lingers over Tokiya’s lips, licking every trace of salt from them.

Shuddery, Masato stops. His hand goes tight in Tokiya’s.

Tokiya’s eyes come open to find Ren nibbling at the shell of Masato’s ear. Through his teeth, he says, “Let me have a turn, huh?”

Breathy, Masato whispers, “With who?”

“Ichi’s gotta go back to his room sometime,” Ren murmurs, “and I get you all night. Take a guess.”

Tokiya is already breathless when Ren presses Masato between them, catching Tokiya with a hand around the back of his neck. It’s a stretch to reach Ren, awkward to kiss him. But Tokiya can feel Masato’s breath hitch against his chest and he gets it. Masato’s watching, Masato _has_ to watch.

Ren teases him sweetly, putting on a show. He sucks Tokiya’s lip, drags his tongue over the hard planes of Tokiya’s teeth, leaves Tokiya panting with how empty he feels. No wonder Masato kisses like he’s coming up for air.

Masato squeezes Tokiya’s hand before letting go. He loops his arms around Tokiya’s waist, rubs circles over his back. He sucks the base of Tokiya’s throat, the underside of his jaw, his chin, and up, until he’s stolen Tokiya’s mouth from Ren.

Ren _growls_. Before Tokiya can catch himself, he’s pinned to the door. Ren and Masato fight for him with dizzying kisses, trading his mouth between theirs until he can barely catch his breath. Tokiya can only knead at them, one hand in Ren’s collar, the other on Masato’s shoulder.

Ren is more forceful than he’s ever been, favoring deeper, harder kisses to keep Masato from stealing Tokiya back. Masato kisses any part of Tokiya he can reach, soft, breathy presses to his jaw, his pulse, his neck.

Both of them reach for him at once, Ren pushing Tokiya’s shirt up his belly and Masato slipping his fingertips just under Tokiya’s waistband to tease at the elastic of his briefs. Tokiya gasps, his mouth falling open. Part of him worries, almost panicky, about whether he can even go another round with them. He kind of wants to try, kind of like he wants to try parachuting.

Masato nuzzles against the curve of Tokiya’s jaw. On the edge of hearing, he whispers, “I want to—“

There’s a knock at the door. It resonates through Tokiya’s back, sharp and loud.

The three of them freeze, not even daring to breathe. Ren slowly, painstakingly withdraws his tongue. Some suicidal part of Tokiya wants to laugh.

“Who is it?” asks Masato, his voice smooth. Ren grabs Tokiya away from the door and hauls him over to the sofa.

“It’s me!” Cecil. “We’re back and they gave us flowers! I have some for your room.”

Masato glances over his shoulder toward the sofa and takes a steadying breath. He opens the door and actually has to step back to admit a massive bouquet of peach-colored roses and baby’s breath. It’s in a massive, dark green glass vase with a white ribbon tied around the neck.“Th-thank you for sharing.”

“I know, right?” says Cecil. He beams. “And you’re welcome! I thought you would like these the best.” He thrusts them toward Masato.

Stunned, Masato takes the vase. That distant, suicidal part of Tokiya can only notice how pretty he looks with those roses under his chin. He can hear his own heartbeat, gradually slowing. Can Cecil?

Apparently not, because Cecil happily makes himself at home sitting next to Tokiya on the sofa. While Masato finds a home for the flowers, Cecil happily tells the story of his day. Starting with the car ride with Otoya to the studio.

On Tokiya’s other side, Ren sighs, but it’s affectionate. Tokiya wonders exactly how often he’s been interrupted, to handle it so gracefully.

Masato eventually settles the vase on his low table. The bouquet dwarfs it, but it’s the only flat surface with enough room.

“Did you get to eat dinner?” asks Tokiya, when Cecil pauses for breath.

Cecil wrinkles his nose. “The crafts table counts, right?”

“Cesshi,” says Ren.

“What, it does! I must have eaten a whole watermelon today.”

Ren reaches behind Tokiya to ruffle Cecil’s hair. “No wonder you’ve got a little extra bounce. Sugar high.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t the watermelon. It was the two pound bag of gummy bears.”

“How are you _alive_ ,” Ren gasps. “Ichi, check him for palpitations.” He leaves his arm draped along the back of the sofa, his thumb brushing Tokiya’s shoulder.

Cecil pouts, but offers his wrist to Tokiya. “You’ll see, I’m okay.”

“Yes, but soon you’ll crash. And that’s still not a dinner,” says Masato.

“I ate real food too,” says Cecil. “They had sandwiches! And, um. Cookies.”

Tokiya presses two fingers to the inside of Cecil’s wrist, mostly for show. Cecil’s heartbeat is just fine, steady and slow. “I don’t think you’re in any short-term danger,” he murmurs, giving Cecil his hand back. “But in the long term…”

“It’s not like I do it every day,” says Cecil.

“You’ve done it once, and that’s more than enough,” says Masato.

“I have so many disapproving fathers,” Cecil whines.

Ren laughs. He pokes Cecil in the shoulder. “No, no, we’re not so old, are we? We can be your brothers.”

Cecil smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something hard and sad in it, a mouthful of thorns.

“I much prefer that,” Tokiya agrees, leaning into Ren’s side. “I’m not prepared to raise such an unruly son.”

Masato sighs. “And I’m not prepared to share custody with either of you.”

“But brotherhood,” Tokiya continues, elbowing Ren before he can fuss, “is a much better deal.”

The flicker of hurt in Cecil’s expression lightens at that. “What’s that mean?”

“Love without ownership,” Masato murmurs.

“And you’re the youngest of us all, so you’re the little brother,” says Tokiya. “And Ren is the eldest, which makes _him_ the one to get in trouble for us.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ren says, “don’t misrepresent our relationship.”

“Jinguuji gets into plenty of trouble on his own,” says Masato.

Cecil laughs. “Then he’s good at handling it! Thanks, big brother!”

Ren leans in and catches Cecil by the ear, giving it a tweak. “Don’t push it, Cesshi, or I’ll take my responsibilities very seriously. No little brother of mine eats himself sick on gummy bears.”

“I get it, I get it. Owww,” Cecil whines, rubbing at his ear.

“Overreacting is _also_ the role of the little brother,” says Tokiya, laughing. “He didn’t hurt you.”

“You don’t know that. I have very sensitive ears,” says Cecil. “And I brought you roses and everything.”

“They’re lovely, and also beside the point,” says Ren.

Cecil pouts. In his defense, it’s adorable. To his detriment, he knows exactly how adorable he is.

“A peach-colored rose is a sign of gratitude,” says Masato. “Very stately.”

“It also signifies the color of a virgin’s blush,” Ren counters.

“You ruin everything,” says Masato, without venom.

Tokiya can tell, because Ren doesn’t even tense up. But Cecil says, “Hey, don’t fight.”

“But then what will we do?” asks Ren.

When Cecil looks almost anguished, Tokiya says, “They don’t mean anything by it. They’re just too proud to say ‘I love you’.”

Masato stills, and Ren makes a choked-off indignant noise. Cecil’s laugh is bright. “Now _you’ve_ ruined everything.”

Tokiya just shrugs, hiding the instant of cold, hard regret already growing into a spiked ball in his gut. “Have I?”

“The truth hurts,” says Cecil sagely.

Tokiya smiles a little. He doesn’t look back at Ren, nor does he spare a glance for Masato. He’s pretty surprised at himself, at just how quickly he’s thrown a wrench into his own spokes. “I don’t have any brothers of my own.”

Cecil says, “You aren’t missing very much.” He yawns, tucking his legs up against his chest. “Or, well. You are, but it’s okay.”

“Cesshi,” says Ren, more softly.

“It’s true. Ugh, and now I’m just tired,” says Cecil, leaning his cheek on his knees.

Gently, Tokiya says, “I’ll walk you to your room. You should get some sleep.”

Cecil gives him a wry, sleepy smile. “Okay.”

Without any more than a polite ‘good night’, Tokiya gets himself off the sofa and leaves. He leaves, without a parting kiss, or even a touch. He just. Leaves.

Beside him, Cecil drags his feet, his exhaustion catching up with him.

“Don’t worry too much about what I say,” Cecil mumbles, as they make their way to his dorm. “You know me. Ha.”

Tokiya sighs a little. He reaches for Cecil’s shoulder. Cecil leans into him, gives him a brief, heavy hug. “I could know you better,” Tokiya tells him. Even his hair smells like fresh grass and sunshine.

Cecil just says, “Goodnight, Tokiya.”

Tokiya lets him go. Into the quiet, he says, “Goodnight.”

Cecil closes his door behind him. Tokiya takes a breath.

He turns toward his own room. His own bed, the familiar rhythms of Otoya kickboxing in his sleep on the other side of the dorm. He _knows_ this is the smarter choice. He knows.


	4. Tokiya Gets the Time He Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a communication issue is discussed, if not resolved.
> 
> Also, sorry! Somehow, Ren didn't make it into this chapter?? He'll be back soon.

Ren’s hair doesn’t naturally fall forward over his face. If anything, it runs over his shoulders and back like water, pools on his pillow in soft curls. Ren’s hair is only itself when he’s asleep.

It’s a thing Tokiya knows, now. It’s a thing, a mundane, small thing that he can’t take back. He doesn’t want to.

There were things he already knew. How could he not, when they all lived and worked on top of one another? The way Masato buttons his shirt, starting at the second button from the top, then up to the collar, then down. The soft crinkle of Ren’s leather sofa and the way it cradles him. The rhythm of Ren and Masato almost-fighting but not quite.

Strong hands and soft words. The weight of Ren’s arm on his shoulder. The pressure of Masato’s presence without touch.

Tokiya goes through his day without seeing them. He’s not hiding. They’re busy, all of them, pulled in separate directions by meetings and appointments, appearances and responsibilities. Tokiya works, and doesn’t think about them.

By the time evening comes, Tokiya is still alone. He leaves his empty dorm for fresh air. Tokiya still prefers to walk in the moonlight when he can, to find a quiet place beside one of the lakes on the Shining Agency’s grounds. It’s quiet, almost isolated, a good place to let his mind wander. Sometimes, a moment of stillness is all he needs to find the right answer, to move forward. Fall is coming, and it’s starting to get chilly at night. He tucks his hands into his pockets.

Masato finds him, ethereal in the white light of the moon. Softly, he says, “Tokiya.”

Tokiya turns to him. His mouth softens into a smile. “Masa.”

“Have I done something to upset you?” Masato asks, almost a whisper. Like the question could disturb the night before them, could cut the reflections on the surface of the lake.

Tokiya touches his shoulder to Masato’s. He stays. “No. This is because I left, isn’t it?”

Masato shifts, putting the barest space between them. “If we were too much - if I - I couldn’t forgive myself if I’d—“

“Masa,” Tokiya murmurs. He puts their shoulders together again. “Stop.”

Masato goes quiet. He doesn’t move, this time.

“I realized I needed to leave. It wasn’t anything either of you did. It was timing,” says Tokiya softly. He knows there’s a tiny lie in it, but it’s just the lie of his nerves. His tiny moment of panic, at the speed with which they’d moved, at the reactions of his own body, at the suddenness with which he gave himself up to them, pliant and pinned to the door.

Clearly, Masato doesn’t quite believe him. There’s a set to his brow, a tension around the corners of his mouth.

Tokiya hopes it will pass. Softly, he continues, “May I walk you back? I don’t want you to get a chill.”

“Thank you,” says Masato. He pulls away from Tokiya to turn back toward the dorms. Tokiya falls into step beside him. They cross over perfectly manicured lawns, following winding stone pathways.

“Masa, have I done something to upset you?” asks Tokiya, as the question occurs to him.

Masato lets out a slow breath. “I think I’d have done the same thing, if I were you. I don’t have a reason to be upset.”

Tokiya chews the side of his tongue. But they’re approaching the dorm building, so he keeps his mouth shut. He follows Masato to his room, waits while Masato unlocks the door, follows him inside.

When the door clicks shut, Tokiya feels the energy in the air change. Now they’re alone, really alone. He steps into Masato’s path, keeping him from walking away.

“Masa,” Tokiya says. “I. Don’t know how to do this.”

Masato’s eyebrows raise.

Tokiya reaches for him, touches the side of his face. It’s cool from the night air, but warming. “I’m going to make mistakes. I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Masato’s eyebrows slowly relax back down. “Tokiya.”

Tokiya cups Masato’s face in both hands. He holds on gently, leans in and presses his lips to Masato’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, the end of his nose. “We need a way to talk about this. A language of our own.”

Masato sighs out, shaky. He smooths his palms over Tokiya’s chest. “Yes.”

Tokiya nods, kissing Masato’s cheeks, one by one. He slips his hands into Masato’s hair and pets over the back of his neck. He leans their foreheads together. “But. I want to be here. I want you.”

Masato shivers. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Tokiya’s waist. “I wasn’t sure if you had changed your mind.”

“No, no. No.” Tokiya pets through his hair.

With a sigh, Masato tips his head to kiss him. Tokiya cradles him, stroking his fingers through Masato’s hair. It’s soft, almost tentative. It’s almost _awful_ , like Masato doesn’t trust it anymore.

Tokiya presses more deeply into the kiss, coaxing Masato’s head down. He wants this, he wants to be here. With his hands, his mouth, he tries to convince Masato of the truth of that. Masato’s hands press flat to his back, pull him in closer. Tokiya thinks that maybe now Masato believes him.

Tokiya sighs. Masato pulls back to catch his breath. “Tokiya.”

“Mm,” says Tokiya, gently squeezing the back of Masato’s neck. He opens his eyes, for all that Masato’s so close he’s still blurry.

“Would Ittoki really notice, if you’re gone at night?”

Tokiya swallows. “Eventually, I think he would.”

“The bed was missing something. It was missing you,” Masato whispers. “It doesn’t have to be every night.”

“It couldn’t be,” says Tokiya. He realizes, belatedly, they’re swaying. Masato is swaying them, like a slow dance. “But. But, when I can.”

Masato strokes over Tokiya’s back. “Please. We’ll set alarms, we won’t keep you late.”

Tokiya laughs a little. He pets Masato’s face, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “After yesterday—“

“After yesterday, I am more determined to be aware of the time, and not less,” says Masato.

Tokiya laughs, rubbing his thumb over the little furrow that forms between Masato’s eyebrows. “I believe you,” he says, and kisses Masato to soothe him. “Maybe… maybe tonight, I’ll stay.”

Masato smiles, a soft curve of his mouth. Tokiya can’t help but kiss it, can’t help but taste it, sinking into Masato with a warm flutter in his chest. Masato holds him close, lets him in. The chill of the evening air has left Masato. Now, he’s all heat, growing hotter. Tokiya stokes the fire, pressing his body close. Masato’s arms go tight around him, molding them together from chest to hip. Tokiya gasps, wriggles back to get his coat off of his shoulders, to get Masato’s sweatshirt unzipped, to get rid of the layers between them.

Tokiya has never thought of Masato as very physically strong. Emotionally, Tokiya knows Masato is always braced against the power of his own passion. Masato _feels_ more strongly, more deeply, than anyone Tokiya can think of, and represses that tidal wave every single day. He has inner endurance, he has grace to weather his turmoil and his joy and his anguish.

But now, as Masato holds him tight and maneuvers them to slip his thigh between Tokiya’s, Tokiya has to submit also to Masato’s physical strength. Masato doesn’t shrink from him, but surges to meet him at every movement. He presses his thigh against Tokiya’s groin, hot and firm as an iron bar. Tokiya gasps, his hips stuttering, but Masato holds him steady. Masato bends with Tokiya, follows his mouth when he arches, nips at his lip.

“Oh,” says Tokiya softly, “oh.”

“Okay?” asks Masato. He goes so still, his mouth a hair’s breadth from Tokiya’s jaw.

Tokiya presses his cock to Masato’s hip, gasping at the beautiful pressure of it. Masato’s breath catches.

“How long do we have before Ren gets here?” Tokiya asks.

Masato’s brow creases with the effort of thinking. “He’s - not for another hour or so, at least. He’s.”

Tokiya holds the sides of Masato’s face. “I had an idea. I need you.”

Masato’s hand drops to the small of Tokiya’s back and presses hard at the word _need_. “Tell me,” he whispers.

Tokiya’s jaw works around the words, around sudden shyness. But he’d been so firm with Masato before, giving him the words _please help me_. So he swallows, heart hammering, and whispers, “Teach me how to suck you off?”

Masato’s eyes go wide and bright. “I. I’ll try,” he says, breathy and soft. He leans into Tokiya’s hands to kiss him, feather-light.

Tokiya shivers with relief. The words are out of him. Masato’s lips are so gentle. Against them, Tokiya says, “Will you sit for me?”

Masato’s mouth quirks. “No. No, I’m going to show you, first.”

“But I—“ Tokiya begins, but Masato kisses him to stop him.

“It will take the edge off so you can focus.”

Tokiya gapes at Masato, giving Masato the perfect opening to slip his tongue past Tokiya’s lips again. With directness Tokiya previously thought Masato wouldn’t use, he grips Tokiya’s hips and pushes him back, back until his shoulders hit the wall. “Stand and watch,” Masato whispers, kissing the corner of Tokiya’s mouth.

All Tokiya can do is lean back into the wall, trying to keep his balance. Masato’s hands drag from Tokiya’s hips to his thighs, guiding them further apart. For his obedience, Tokiya’s rewarded with Masato’s hand slipping into his pants, teasing scratches through the hair at the base of his cock.

Tokiya shudders, suddenly desperately aroused. Masato withdraws his hand, kisses gently down the side of Tokiya’s neck. “Remember everything,” Masato whispers. “I’ll go slowly for you.”

Weakly, Tokiya nods. Masato smiles at him, careful and powerful at once. He sinks to his knees, settling between Tokiya’s feet. He pushes the hem of Tokiya’s shirt up his belly, takes one of Tokiya’s hands and presses it over the cloth. “Hold this, please,” he whispers.

Tokiya fists his hand in his shirt, holding the hem absently just under his ribs. He knows himself, uses the other hand to cover his own mouth. Already soft sounds threaten to escape him on his breath. But now, now he has no way to touch Masato in return. His field of view is clear.

Masato kisses just under Tokiya’s navel and undoes his belt. With ease, he gets Tokiya’s pants open and guides them down as far as they’ll go with Tokiya’s legs spread. Tokiya arches his back away from the cold of the wall, presses his shoulders harder into it.

Slowly, slowly, Masato teases Tokiya’s briefs down his hips. He follows their path with his mouth, sucking kisses into Tokiya’s belly. He lingers, like this is all he wants. Like every new inch of skin he bares is is precious. He slips his fingers under the waistband, then withdraws them, tracing torturous paths with gentle fingertips. He bites the hard curve of one of Tokiya’s hipbones, making him jolt with the threat. Tokiya knows it’s a lesson, but still he stifles a sigh of relief when Masato finally, _finally_ draws his briefs low enough to pull his cock free of them.

Masato leans back, watching Tokiya with all his intensity as he gives Tokiya’s cock one slow, dry stroke. It’s too light, but still Tokiya’s breath shivers out through his nose.

Masato curls one hand tightly at the base of Tokiya’s cock. He doesn’t look away from Tokiya’s face as he leans in. His lips part, but all he does is let the head of Tokiya’s cock rest against his tongue. And yet, even without motion, that slick heat, that promise, makes Tokiya whimper into his hand.

Slowly, torturously slowly, Masato strokes with his tongue.

Tokiya realizes he’s made a terrible mistake. He asked Masato to teach him, and he’s going to learn. It’s going to kill him. Masato’s gaze is so intense, his movements so slow and patient and adoring. Tokiya’s going to die. Already he’s alight, grounded only by the tight grip Masato has on him.

Masato closes his lips around the head of Tokiya’s cock and starts to work him. For just an instant, Masato’s eyes flutter closed, like he’s lost himself, before they come back open. He’s taking his job as a teacher seriously, teasing Tokiya to pieces. He’s even so obliging as to pause when Tokiya closes his eyes, to give him a second to catch his breath.

Tokiya is going to die. He _has_ to watch, can’t escape Masato’s attention or the order he gave - _remember everything_. He knows he’s curled in on himself, his hand pressed so hard over his mouth he can feel his teeth digging into his lip. But he keeps his eyes open, watches Masato on his cock.

By the time Masato even lets him get close to coming, he’s burned the image of Masato’s lips dragging over his skin into his memory. His hand is cramping where it’s fisted in his shirt, his legs shaking. When Masato’s hand loosens, starts to stroke, Tokiya chokes on his own breath and comes hard enough to see stars.

Still, Masato strokes him, slower, firmer, guiding him back down. He pulls his mouth from Tokiya’s cock with a last, gentle suck that almost hurts. Then sits back on his heels and, with a great wince, swallows.

Tokiya drops his hand from his mouth and heaves a few big breaths, his head falling back against the wall with a thud. He uncurls the fingers of his other hand one by one, twitching with aftershocks.

Masato squeezes Tokiya’s ankle.

Slowly, Tokiya slides down the wall. His pants stop him, fabric drawn taut over his thighs. It’s easier to pull them back up than off. Once they’re back over his hips he slips down to the floor.

“Are you alright?” Masato whispers, husky. His mouth is red.

Tokiya nods, still not quite sure of his voice. He reaches for Masato, his hand curling weakly around Masato’s forearm.

Masato comes to him, sits beside him against the wall. This close, Tokiya can smell his breath. Somehow, on Masato, it’s not so bad.

Tokiya turns, leans his forehead against the side of Masato’s face. Masato takes Tokiya’s hand in his own. For a moment, Tokiya gets peace.

And yet. He can see Masato trying to take calming breaths. Masato’s posture hides his crotch from Tokiya’s view, but. But how could he wreck Tokiya like that and _not_ feel it?

Tokiya swallows. “Masa.”

“Yes,” Masato whispers.

“I have questions,” says Tokiya, fighting the smile that threatens the corners of his mouth.

“Oh. Alright,” says Masato, sounding concerned.

Tokiya squeezes his hand. “I. I can ask them as they come up, I think,” he murmurs. “First. Is it my turn, now?”

“Yes. Yes,” Masato whispers, nodding like he hadn’t been clear enough. Tokiya kisses his cheek.

“Do you want to be here?” he asks. “Or can we move?”

“Where?” Masato whispers, turning toward Tokiya. His eyes are so dark.

Tokiya bites his lip on a smile. “Could we use Ren’s bed?”

“That’s four questions already,” says Masato, but he’s moving.

Tokiya laughs, pushes himself to his feet. His legs aren’t nearly as shaky any more, and he moves with purpose.

Fastidious, Masato smooths the comforter over Ren’s bed before sitting on the edge of it. The deep nervousness in Tokiya that wants to surface can’t compete with the warmth in Tokiya’s chest. He just can’t help smiling.

Slowly, Tokiya bends to kiss Masato. “Forgive me if I get it wrong?” he asks.

Masato’s expression softens. He pets Tokiya’s hair back from his face and says, “You won’t.”

Tokiya can only hope he’s right. He drops to his knees and pulls Masato down so he can kiss the base of his throat, nuzzles into his collar to bite at the sensitive curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Masato’s soft gasp gives him confidence, prompts him to lift the hem of Masato’s shirt and push it up. “Will you take this off?”

Masato nods, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt before pulling it off over his head. He’s flushed down his chest already, soft pink against his pale skin. Tokiya loops his arms around Masato’s waist and kisses his chest. Then he pushes with his forehead, guiding Masato back so he has to rest his weight on his elbows. Satisfied, Tokiya kisses a line down Masato’s belly, laughing when Masato’s muscles tense.

“It tickles,” Masato complains, swatting at Tokiya’s head and purposefully missing.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Tokiya. He undoes the button of Masato’s pants, dimly aware of the waistband of his own sagging down toward his knees. Masato is more important, now.

Rather than tease him, Tokiya makes short work of the rest of Masato’s clothes, leaning back to get them all the way off. Without anything to protect him, Masato’s bare skin goes tight with goosebumps. The perfect expanse of him is punctuated with dark beauty marks. One along the curve of his ribs, another low on his belly, yet another on the vulnerable inside of his thigh. It’s that mark that draws Tokiya’s attention, and his mouth. He can’t help but try to taste it, to guide Masato to lift his knee to let Tokiya in.

Masato is so, so quiet. The only cues Tokiya has are his breaths and the heavy, needy jut of his cock.

Tokiya had expected to feel a little nervous. But now, faced with it, there’s a kind of power that thrills him. He takes a breath, pulls his mouth from Masato’s thigh.

“Masa,” he whispers. “Before. Yesterday. There was something you did with your hands.”

Masato shivers, spreading his legs. “Are you asking to try it?”

Tokiya nods, digging his teeth into his lip. Masato lifts his leg, drapes it over Tokiya’s shoulder. Tokiya turns his face, presses a kiss to Masato’s knee to ground himself.

The skin between Masato’s legs is softer, hotter than he expects. He presses his thumb into the crease where Masato’s thigh meets his body and then in, rubbing long, slow circles behind his balls. Masato lets out a long sigh and leans his cheek into his shoulder, watching.

He’s so beautiful. Tokiya understands what he meant, now, about taking the edge off.

Tokiya leans in, wraps his other hand around Masato’s cock to steady it, slips the head into his mouth. He tastes like skin, like salt, but even just that touch punches a rough breath out of Masato.

Slowly, exploring, Tokiya does his best to put Masato’s lessons to use. The skin of Masato’s cock is so soft, so hot, he’s surprised to find he _wants_ it on his tongue. He wants the weight of it pressing his jaw open, wants the drag of slick skin over his lips. He gets so wrapped up in the cock in his mouth he forgets his hands, stills them where they rest.

From the way Masato pulls him in closer with the leg hooked over his shoulder, Masato doesn’t care. Tokiya wraps his arm around Masato’s leg, holding it there, wanting to be grounded by it.

Masato pants, flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded. His chest is pink, his stomach twitching, his nipples drawn in tight.

Tokiya moans, taking Masato as far as he can. Frustratingly, it’s not as deep as he wants, but he can feel his throat fighting him. He’s too new, unpracticed. He drools down the length of Masato’s cock, feeling ashamed for being so sloppy, but it eases the way for his fist. He strokes what he can’t swallow, using the flex of Masato’s hips as a guide for the rhythm.

On shaky breaths, Masato whispers, “Tokiya. Tokiya. I’m close.”

Tokiya tightens his grip on Masato’s thigh. Something like pride curls hot in his stomach. Masato continues, “You don’t - you don’t have to.”

Tokiya looks up at him, the whole, trembling mess of him. This once, he wants to try. He pulls back enough to stroke the length of his tongue over the head of Masato’s cock and swallows him again, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks.

Masato gets his meaning, tightens the pressure of his leg over Tokiya’s shoulder and drops back to the bed. He arches hard, fisting his hands in Ren’s comforter. With little more than a few stuttery attempts at thrusts, he comes over Tokiya’s tongue. His legs shake, coming to wrap around Tokiya’s shoulders, but not a sound escapes him.

Tokiya shivers, swallowing without thinking, his tongue still working against Masato’s cock like he could get him to keep coming by willpower alone. Masato’s so _pretty_ when he comes, screaming with his body instead of his voice.

But he remembers that oversensitive, warning ache and he stops, letting Masato slip from his mouth. Still, he stays where he is, catching his breath with his cheek pressed to Masato’s thigh. His jaw aches, and there’s a twinge at the root of his tongue. Come tastes terrible. And yet. And yet, to see Masato this undone, he’d do anything.

He watches as Masato breathes, coming back to himself. Eventually, Masato’s leg slips from his shoulder, and his hands uncurl.

Tokiya asks, “Was that okay?” His voice is rough, deeper than he expects.

In response, Masato laughs weakly. “Tokiya, please.”

The question had been sincere, but Tokiya smiles at the answer. He sits back and rubs life back into his knees. “I had a thorough teacher.”

Masato presses his foot into Tokiya’s shoulder and gives him a gentle shove. “Tokiya.”

With a soft laugh, Tokiya pushes himself to his feet. It’s easy to slide out of his jeans, to leave his clothes in a neat pile at the foot of Ren’s bed. “Are you cold?”

Masato has moved, settling his head on one of Ren’s many pillows. He’s still sprawled atop the comforter. “Yes. Come here.”

Tokiya climbs onto the bed, grabbing one end of the comforter and wrapping it over the both of them. Masato shivers when their bodies meet, then presses against Tokiya. He kisses Tokiya softly, making Tokiya acutely aware of just how tired his lips are.

Softly, Masato says, “You wanted to talk. We need a language.”

“You remembered?” Tokiya breathes, unable to keep surprise from his tone.

“Of course,” says Masato. He loops his arm over Tokiya’s waist and holds him close. “I don’t. I don’t want to. Miscommunicate.”

Tokiya sighs. He nuzzles at Masato’s jaw, gets him to shift so they can lay more comfortably together. “I don’t either.”

“Perhaps,” Masato murmurs, “some general assumptions, true unless contradicted?”

Tokiya mumbles, “How are you saying such big words?” Personally, Tokiya’s sure his own brain leaked out with his orgasm and is still gathering itself on the floor some yards away.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t intelligent,” Masato says. “You can do this.”

“Mm,” says Tokiya, “okay. Then. General assumptions.”

“Right,” says Masato.

“True unless contradicted,” says Tokiya.

“Mhm,” says Masato.

The silence between them starts slow, gathers steam, and stretches.

Tokiya sighs. “Maybe this would be easier with all of us here?”

“Jinguuji _is_ more talkative,” Masato concedes.

“His first general assumption would be ‘I like your dick’,” says Tokiya, starting to laugh.

Masato considers for a moment, then sighs. “Sadly, it’s a good one.”

Tokiya, feeling contrary, murmurs, “The assumption or the dick?”

“I do like yours,” says Masato, flushing.

Tokiya smiles, just a little. “I like yours. I like all of you.”

“Then. Then, it’s decided,” Masato mumbles, pressing his face into the pillow.

“Don’t hide!” says Tokiya, lifting his head. “How can you be shy now?”

Masato doesn’t respond. Tokiya leans in and presses his face into the pillow next to Masato’s, digging him free. Their noses brush. “Masa. Masa, hey.”

Masato opens one eye.

Tokiya pets the side of his face. “You let me make you come. That’s the first time I got to do it. And. And, I don’t want to stop. I want. I want so much, Masa. You’re so beautiful. Please don’t hide.”

Wretchedly, Masato says, “How can you just _say_ those things?”

Tokiya laughs. “Ren doesn’t seem to be ashamed of it either.”

“Jinguuji is a gutter-brain,” Masato mumbles.

“Why do you call him that?” asks Tokiya, tugging gently at Masato’s earlobe. “Jinguuji.”

Masato swallows. “We’ve always maintained that… distance.”

Tokiya hums. “Ah. Of course, you’d want to use his name in a more familiar way only if he’d really earned it. Or at an opportune time.”

“Tokiya,” says Masato.

“You stopped calling me ‘Ichinose’,” Tokiya reasons. “I’m just curious.”

Masato frowns. It’s not severe, and in fact the flush is still warm on his cheeks. “No, you’re making suggestions.”

Tokiya smiles. “I know what you do to me. I want to see what you do to him.”

“Oh,” says Masato. “ _Oh_.”

Tokiya curls closer to him, slides his thigh between Masato’s. “What do you think?”

“We got distracted,” Masato murmurs. “From the original purpose of our conversation.”

“That’s not an answer,” says Tokiya.

Masato hums, closing his eye. Tokiya sighs, but subsides.

From somewhere across the room, Masato’s phone chimes.

Grumbling, Masato climbs from the cocoon of warmth on the bed to check it.

“Ah. Jinguuji’s on his way back, now.”

“Masa. Is he also… worried, about yesterday? Does he think I’m upset with him?”

Masato tilts his head. “No. He thought I was being silly.”

Tokiya sits up. “It wasn’t silly.”

“That wasn’t the word he used,” says Masato, sighing. He returns to the bed, phone in hand. “But. It was clear he wasn’t concerned.”

“Then. Do you think it would be fair to surprise him?”

Masato sits beside Tokiya. He raises his eyebrows. “How?”

Tokiya smiles. “I have an idea.”


	5. Tokiya Revises His Previous Assumptions Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masato and Tokiya surprise Ren when he gets back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASATO GRABBED THIS CHAPTER AND RAN THE FUCK AWAY WITH IT
> 
> Also my Bean has informed me that this fic is riding the logic trolley all the way to Mordor. For what that's worth.

Tokiya bows his head with Masato’s and whispers to him, a silly little plan to give Ren a surprise. And why shouldn’t they, if Ren is leaving the next day to be gone an entire weekend? If they ended the last day in seriousness and doubt, shouldn’t they have relief?

It’s a kind of childishness Tokiya doesn’t often get to indulge in. It’s clear from the way Masato is trying valiantly to appear unamused that it’s the same for him. But together, they hide Tokiya’s clothes (Masato folds them neatly, tucking them into his closet on top of Tokiya’s shoes) and turn out the lights, slipping into Ren’s bed. They pull the comforter up so only Masato’s head shows.

“Are you sure about this?” Masato whispers.

Tokiya kisses the middle of his chest. “It only has to work for a second.”

“It must be hot down there,” Masato says, lifting the comforter to let in some cool air.

“Ah, thank you,” Tokiya huffs at him, licks the skin he kissed. Masato squirms. “I never was good at hide-and-seek.”

If Tokiya is being honest with himself, their small talk is less interesting than Masato’s skin. He nuzzles against Masato’s chest, following the curves of him with his lips and nose, taking slow, easy breaths. Masato smells like sweat, now, too removed from his morning shower. Tokiya takes in the scent of him and the way the firmness of him changes - skin stretched taut over ribs and hips sloping down to meet in impossible softness at his waist. Tokiya’s hand settles into the shallow dip of it.

“I didn’t often play it,” Masato whispers, his breath hitching. “But I was hard to find.”

Tokiya noses one of Masato’s nipples, murmuring, “I can believe that.”

Masato’s attempted response melts into a hiss at the touch of Tokiya’s tongue. He flicks over it gently, testing. “Mm?”

Masato’s hands flex, digging into Tokiya’s shoulders. “Maybe not?” he whispers.

“Mm,” Tokiya says. He presses his palm over Masato’s nipple, firm. “You okay?”

“Very.” Masato cards his fingers through Tokiya’s hair. “If you want me to hold out until Jinguuji gets here, we shouldn’t continue that.”

Tokiya wriggles up the bed to give Masato a soft kiss. “But later, I could—“

Masato covers Tokiya’s mouth with his fingertips, pushes him back down. “Shh, I hear someone.”

Tokiya stifles a laugh against Masato’s chest. He brushes his hand over Masato’s nipple accidentally. Completely accidentally. In response, Masato tweaks his ear. Tokiya contents himself with pressing his face to Masato’s chest and holding him. Masato has carefully angled his hips away from Tokiya, and as much as he’d like to check and see whether he’s inspired a reaction from Masato’s cock, he doesn’t reach for it. The waiting is fun on its own.

Masato keeps the comforter lifted so Tokiya can get air, a cool draft slipping between them. For a while, Tokiya drifts almost into a doze. Ren’s bed smells like them, under the sheets. It only took one night, but it’s comforting all the same.

He snaps to alertness when he feels Masato let the comforter fall. It’s dim in the room without lights, but under the sheets it’s pitch dark. Muffled, Tokiya hears the bolt slide back as Ren lets himself in. Masato’s breaths come even, slow like sleep.

It’s quiet for too long. The sound of running water seeps from the bathroom.

Tokiya sits up, squinting in the darkness. Ren hadn’t even turned on the light. “You’re a good actor,” he says to Masato.

Masato rolls onto his back, sighing. “How considerate of him.” He pauses, then murmurs, “No. No, he _wouldn’t_.”

“Wouldn’t what?” asks Tokiya.

“He showered before he left today,” Masato murmurs, frowning at the ceiling.

It clicks. “He thinks you’re asleep and he doesn’t want to wake you up.” Tokiya chews the side of his tongue. “Well.”

Masato stretches, long and lean. He presses his palms to the headboard and arches high enough that the sheets slip down to pool at his lap. With a sigh, he sits upright. “I think a change of plans may be in order.”

“Yeah,” Tokiya agrees.

Masato rises, padding across the room in the dark. Tokiya follows a little more carefully. He doesn’t have the dorm memorized the same way, steps cautiously in the dark.

Masato knocks once on the bathroom door before opening it.

Ren is still waiting on the hot water, it seems. He’s bent over the sink with a cotton pad, scrubbing makeup from his eyes. Absently, he says, “Didn’t mean to wake you,” without looking up. “Sorry.”

“We were awake,” says Masato.

It takes a moment for the words to register, a moment for Ren to wipe one more time at his eyes before his brows draw together and he turns.

Tokiya envies him a little. He reaches past Masato into the tiny shower stall, turns off the water, just to have something to do. Ren’s looking at him, at _them,_ with surprise and blatant admiration.

“You. You give me _all this shit_ about making sure not to wake you up if I get in late,” says Ren, a smile creeping onto his face. “You hypocrite.”

“To be fair,” says Masato, plucking the cotton pad from Ren’s hand, “it was Tokiya’s idea. Hold still.”

Obediently, Ren even closes his left eye when Masato wipes the last smudge of eyeliner from the corner of it. “It’s a good idea. Coming back to the two of you, naked in my bed.”

“We can go back?” offers Tokiya, shrugging. He’s trying to appear as calm as the other two, but his heart’s racing. When it’s the three of them, the energy in the room ramps up an extra notch every time.

Masato says, “Rinse your face. Then come back to us.”

They leave Ren in the bathroom, holding that cotton pad with two fingers, an expression of bewildered happiness still on his face. Tokiya makes it three steps before walking into a bookshelf, pain shooting up from his foot. He must have cursed because Masato hushes him and turns on the lights.

“That wasn’t fair to you, was it?” asks Masato, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” says Tokiya, huffing a little as Masato takes great pains to guide him safely to the bed and sit him down. When Masato lifts Tokiya’s foot to examine his toes, Tokiya repeats, “I’m _okay_.”

“Ah, good,” says Masato, and uses that grip on Tokiya’s foot to unbalance him and knock him onto his back. He catches the back of Tokiya’s knee in the crook of his elbow, keeps Tokiya’s leg hooked over his arm as he surges up to kiss him. He’s not shy about sliding over Tokiya’s body this time, dragging their cocks together and grinding a moan from Tokiya’s throat.

Masato kisses him hard, swallowing his sounds. He rocks, filthy-hot little thrusts that leave Tokiya gasping.

“What did you do?” Ren asks, a husky whisper. Tokiya’s eyes flutter open, catch sight of Ren leaning over them both. Ren mouths the curve of Masato’s neck and drags his fingers down the back of Tokiya’s stretched thigh.

“He teased,” says Masato, tipping his head to the side. Ren takes the invitation and bites. Still, Masato rocks, a push-pull rhythm that’s not enough but so, so good. Tokiya can barely keep his eyes open, they want so badly to roll back.

“I was just—“ he gasps, jaw working. “Oh. Oh, just. I.” He can’t find words, struck by the vision of the two of them above him.

Ren pulls Masato back. The air between them is cold. Tokiya shivers, catching his breath. “Not yet,” says Ren.

Tokiya wants to grab for them, wants to pull Masato back down and _into_ him. It’s a sudden desire bordering on need, an emptiness that the cold makes worse. He wants, he wants. He wants them inside him. He _wants_. His leg is still hooked over Masato’s arm, and he tries to use it to get Masato’s warmth back. Ren catches his ankle, kisses it, makes him straighten his leg. Before he can stop it, Tokiya whines.

Cold mortification clenches in his guts. He throws his hands up over his face, curling away. Fuck, _fuck_ , who _is_ he?

Immediately, Masato and Ren are on him, one on either side of him. Ren catches his wrists but doesn’t pull, just whispers, “Babe, Ichi, hey. Hey, beautiful, hey.”

Masato molds himself against Tokiya’s back, squeezing his shoulder. “Tokiya?”

Tokiya heaves a steadying breath. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Ren noses the back of his hand, kisses his knuckles. “No, no. Nothing to be sorry over. Right, Hijiri?”

“Right,” agrees Masato. He’s still and strong and warm.

“Was that too much?” asks Ren.

Tokiya lets his hands fall. Ren is too patient, both of them are. Ren’s face is nothing but affection and concern. Tokiya sighs. “No. I. Um.” He pauses, the words stopped in his throat. He’s flushing, he knows it, hot and red and shameful. He tries to curl up a little tighter.

Ren takes Tokiya’s face in his hands. “It was just right, huh?” he asks, soft and warm.

Tokiya turns his face and presses his mouth to Ren’s palm. But he nods, squeezing his eyes shut.

Ren pets his face. “Yeah.” He shifts, so Tokiya’s knees can press against his thigh. “Makes you feel empty. Like you’re missing something.” When Tokiya opens one eye to regard him - equal parts suspicion and shyness - he smiles. “We haven’t tried it either. No rush.”

“If you two are going to do… that, I’d prefer not to be involved,” says Masato softly.

Tokiya winces. Ren just hums, rubbing his thumb over Tokiya’s cheek. “Sure,” he murmurs. But he’s looking only at Tokiya. “Anything you want.”

Tokiya stares at him, searches his face. Ren’s tone is so easy, so smooth. But then Ren winks at him, a nervy little grin taking over his calm expression. Ren mouths _an-y-thing_.

Softly, Masato kisses between Tokiya’s shoulders. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about it. What you do or… don’t. Want.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Tokiya grumbles into Ren’s hand. His voice is steadier than he was expecting, and he’s grateful for it.

“Harder to actually do, right?” murmurs Ren. “But. Ichi. Ichi, you sounded so pretty, you looked _so good_.” He drags blunt fingertips over Tokiya’s chest, just barely scraping with his nails. He smooths his hand flat over Tokiya’s ribs and strokes back up along them.

Tokiya shivers, sighing. He presses his mouth to Ren’s palm again, but Masato bites his ear. “Don’t hide, Tokiya.”

“Augh,” says Tokiya, clearly enunciating.

“You can’t tell me to do something and be unprepared to set a good example,” Masato murmurs, wrapping his arm around Tokiya from behind. Masato and Ren both press their hands over Tokiya’s chest, over the cage of his ribs.

“You were hiding from him?” asks Ren, amused.

“For very much the same reason. We’re bad with compliments, maybe,” Tokiya mumbles. He can feel himself relaxing, that cold knot in his stomach loosening up, warming. “Or surprises.”

Ren hums. “I’ve never seen Hijirikawa so forceful before. I thought, _how dominant he is, when it’s Ichi beneath him_.”

This time, both Tokiya and Masato make quiet, anguished noises before stuffing their faces down into the bed. Ren’s laugh is bright and clear.

“Shall I leave you blushing violets?” he asks, moving to sit. “I haven’t even gotten a kiss hello.”

“If it will shut you up,” says Masato, into Tokiya’s back.

Tokiya catches Ren’s wrist before Ren can take his hand away. He bites Ren’s palm, then lifts his head to catch Ren’s mouth with his own. He tastes like mint toothpaste, smooth along the points of his teeth. But his lips, his tongue are so hot. Tokiya melts, the tension going out of him. Ren doesn’t waste time with teasing, stroking his tongue over Tokiya’s. Tokiya wonders if Ren can taste Masato on him. His breath catches.

Masato is moving, curling over Tokiya, his hand tracing idle patterns over Tokiya’s ribs, down his belly. He grips Tokiya’s cock and strokes just right, slow and firm. Tokiya gasps, his head falling back. Masato takes advantage, leans over Tokiya to kiss Ren’s unoccupied mouth. Still, he strokes over Tokiya’s cock, humming into Ren’s mouth when Tokiya bucks.

They make him feel so small, surrounded. Helpless. He watches the filthy drag of Masato’s tongue over Ren’s lip. When Masato wants kisses, he’ll play dirty to get them. Tokiya gropes back to catch Masato’s hip and dig his fingers in, what little revenge he can muster.

Ren opens one eye. It seems to be grinning down at Tokiya, his only warning before Ren’s hot hand joins Masato’s on his cock. The two of them move together, teasing Tokiya into a rhythm. He moans, low, and Masato parts from Ren to stifle him with a kiss. Masato leans over him, swallowing every sound. And Ren, with his mouth free, slips down the bed to suck one of Tokiya’s nipples between his teeth.

Tokiya gasps, writhing, dizzy from pleasure and lack of air. Masato’s cock is hot on his back, nowhere near where he wants it. (Tokiya can’t even decide where he wants it, only knows it shouldn’t be so far away.) Ren’s mouth sends sharp, hot, need through him with every flick of his tongue, so his hips jerk in their hands. They play him like music, moving with him, never letting him get away. He doesn’t want to.

Masato gives Tokiya his tongue to suck. With a shudder, Tokiya does, kneading at Masato’s hip, trying to be good. It’s not enough, it’s slick and hot and strong but it’s not Masato’s cock. That shame starts to creep back up on him, for wanting this so much. For feeling empty when they’re devoting so much attention to him.

Something wet drags up the cleft of his ass and rubs at his hole. It’s beautiful and terrible, but the urge to squirm away quickly subsides into a steady, buzzing awareness of that touch. Tokiya whimpers with need, hitching into a cry as Ren’s mouth closes over the head of his cock. Masato kisses him hard to muffle it, but he’s a wreck now, panting around Masato’s tongue. Ren purrs.

It can’t be Masato, Masato doesn’t want it - so - so it must be Ren’s finger, pressing and stroking. Tokiya lifts his leg, finds Ren’s shoulder and lays his knee over it. Ren teases, his fingertip always just on the verge of slipping inside Tokiya but never, never going that far. It’s maddening, making Tokiya hold his breath every time there’s just a little extra pressure and let it out when Ren retreats. Ren’s tongue laves over the head of Tokiya’s cock, and still their hands stroke him, Ren’s and then Masato’s. Tokiya shakes and shakes. He comes with Masato’s tongue stroking at his lips, with Ren’s finger still teasing, his cock jerking in their hands. He’s trembling, knows he’d agree to whatever they suggest.

Ren withdraws his hands, his mouth. He gentles Tokiya’s leg down. Masato lets go of his cock, pulls back enough to let Tokiya breathe. His eyes are so intense, such deep blue.

Low, husky, Ren murmurs, “I think we could make Ichi scream.”

“That would be very risky,” says Masato, tonguing gently at the corner of Tokiya’s mouth. “But I agree.”

Ren joins him, kissing Tokiya with long strokes of his tongue. Tokiya can’t help but taste himself, the way Ren’s forcing it down his throat. Weak as a kitten, he tries to respond, pressing his tongue to Ren’s. Ren grinds against him, his cock rubbing over Tokiya’s belly. It’s too much. Tokiya winces, pulling away.

“Easy, easy,” Ren murmurs to him, rubbing circles on his hip. “We’re not gonna try it now.”

Masato presses his hand over Ren’s, stilling it. He looks down at Tokiya, his brows drawn together. “You’re okay?”

Tokiya swallows, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He nods, not quite ready to attempt words. There’s that panicked feeling again, the one that prompted him to run. But it’s tempered, now, with the weight of Ren and Masato around him. Masato’s concern and Ren’s steadiness. Their hands, one on top of the other, holding him down.

Most absurdly, he knows they’re both still hard. Masato is practically plastered to his lower back, and Ren’s cock lays against his thigh. But they’re waiting for him.

“I, ah,” he begins, then pauses. He licks his lips, tries again. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I might have gotten carried away,” says Ren, smiling wryly. It’s almost an apology, like if Tokiya asked he’d receive one.

Tokiya reaches for him, holds his bicep. “Not complaining.” When Ren’s smile turns a little questioning, Tokiya nods. He’s not complaining about any of it.

Masato sighs. “He’d _just_ come, too. That was too much.”

Ren raises one finger to his lips and winks. Tokiya resists the urge to groan into his hands. Masato didn’t notice Ren playing with his ass? Oh, hell. Evenly, Ren just says, “He just forgave me, too. Didn’t you, Ichi?”

“I guess so,” says Tokiya. “But. But I’d had other plans, before you two jumped me.”

“Oh?” asks Ren.

Tokiya swallows. They took the edge off. He can focus. “Yeah.”

Masato lifts his head, whispers, “Did you want me to hold him?”

Tokiya watches the way Ren’s eyes widen. “No. No, I think I want you to help me in a different way.”

“Ichi, you were a virgin _yesterday_ ,” Ren whispers, reverent.

Tokiya pokes him in the chest. “Yes, so please be kind to me.”

Masato hides a laugh in Tokiya’s hair. “What can I do for you, Tokiya?”

Making a show of consideration, Tokiya sits up. His legs feel like jelly, but he can brace himself on his hands. He takes a breath, then another, wills steadiness into his feet long enough to sink off the bed and onto the floor. “Come down here, please. And, Ren.” He taps Ren’s shin, then pulls his ankle. “Sit.”

Ren moves to sit at the edge of the bed with his teeth dug into his lip, like speaking might break the spell. Masato, however, drops onto the floor beside Tokiya and says, “You have a plan?”

Tokiya leans his face against Ren’s knee. It’s cool against his cheek, but he knows that’s only because he’s starting to blush again. “I thought he might like it,” he murmurs, “if we took care of him at the same time. It’s. It’s nice, being in the middle.”

“Ichi,” says Ren, like a prayer.

Tokiya turns his best innocent expression on Ren. “Is that alright with you?”

Ren gives a sort of choked wheeze. Masato arches one delicate eyebrow and says, “That’s a ‘yes’.”

“From you, too?” asks Tokiya.

Masato smiles. It starts small, growing from a tiny quirk in his mouth to something broad, baring his teeth. Tokiya, were he feeling daring, might call it _wicked_. “Do you think, even if he’ll be modeling, that anyone would notice a bruise here?” he asks, tapping high on the inside of Ren’s thigh. “His trip is for hair dye, not clothing.”

Ren shivers, holding his breath.

Tokiya bites his tongue. “Maybe not, if there’s only just one.”

Masato presses on Ren’s knee, moving his leg out of the way. “Only just one,” he agrees. He makes eye contact with Ren and doesn’t break it as he leans in, until he can press his mouth to the soft inside of Ren’s thigh and suck. Tokiya watches entranced as Ren’s leg tenses, as Masato’s jaw works. Ren hisses through his teeth, hands flexing in the sheets but no further.

The skin slipping past Masato’s lips turns pink, then red. When Masato pulls back, there’s a dark mark already forming, bright red with blood. Masato’s lips are redder too, swollen and soft and Tokiya dives for him, grips his hair and kisses him to feel it. Masato sighs, catches Tokiya’s chin to stop him. He pulls back just enough to look down at the bruise and hum.

“You won’t forget us in Hokkaido, now,” he murmurs.

“I wasn’t going to anyway,” Ren whispers. He lifts his hand like he might reach for the mark to touch it, to make sure it’s real. Masato catches it, presses Ren’s hand to his cheek.

Tokiya realizes he should perhaps have been doing something other than stare. But he and Ren both were frozen, stunned at Masato’s daring. Tokiya doesn’t even know how long a bruise like that might last, or whether it really was a risk to mark him. At the same time, he’s torn, jealous of them both. Of the chance to mark, and to be marked.

Ren holds Masato’s cheek like he’s precious. Masato turns his gaze to Tokiya, triumphant. Tokiya smiles.

He reaches for Masato, holds the side of his neck and pulls him close, thumb stroking over his jaw. “Help me,” he whispers. With his free hand he takes hold of Ren’s cock and presses it to his lips. He can feel Ren jerk at the sensation, but he keeps his eyes on Masato. He parts his lips, lets them drag over the head of Ren’s cock.

Masato shudders out a breath. He leans in slowly, kisses the corner of Tokiya’s mouth. Tokiya snakes his tongue out and squeezes Masato’s neck, pulling him in. When their lips meet around Ren’s cock it’s perfect, stupid and wet and sloppy and _perfect_. Their tongues slide together, stroking over Ren’s cock and each other. When Masato sucks, Tokiya sucks with him, holding Ren’s cock steady at the base. Tokiya can feel spit running down his chin, pooling at the edges of his lips.

Masato pulls back, guides Ren’s cock into Tokiya’s mouth and bends to lick between Tokiya’s fingers. Even Tokiya shivers. He loosens his grip so Masato can suck kisses against the base of Ren’s cock.

Tokiya’s stomach drops to his knees when he looks up. Ren is biting hard into the meat of his palm to stay quiet, but his eyes are desperate. There’s a pretty flush high on his cheeks, down his neck, over his chest. His abs jump every time Tokiya swallows him as far as he can.

Masato licks at Tokiya’s lips where they’ve sealed over Ren’s cock, little fluttering teases. Tokiya moans, kneads at Masato’s neck. It goads him into trying to take Ren deeper, trying to open his throat without gagging. He tries to push past the discomfort but it sears through him. He has to pull away to cough. His throat burns, his eyes tear up, but Masato is there with a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles.

Tokiya winces, glancing up at Ren in apology. But Ren looks absolutely wrecked, sucking in hard breaths and fighting for control. Masato ducks in, sealing his mouth over the bruise on Ren’s thigh. He sets about making it darker, gives Tokiya time to catch his breath.

Sitting on his frustration, Tokiya frowns at Ren’s cock. It’s thicker than Masato’s, but not quite as long. He should have been able to manage it, shouldn’t he?

He flushes when he hears Ren start laughing. It’s a helpless little snicker that makes Ren’s chest shake.

Ren pulls his hand from his mouth to settle in Tokiya’s hair. “It’s not gonna bite you,” he manages between gasps. “Not like - fuck, Hijiri, you’re gonna break the skin.”

“Mn,” says Masato, pulling back. Ren’s skin, while abused, remains intact.

Ren pets through Tokiya’s hair, murmurs, “You’re vicious. I was gonna offer to show Ichi how to deepthroat on you—“

“You still will,” says Masato. Tokiya chokes again, on air this time.

Ren just smiles. “Guess so.”

Masato hums, leans his cheek against Ren’s thigh and strokes idly over Ren’s cock. “Are you getting a big head because you made him choke?”

“Nn—ff,” says Ren. “No, I.”

“Wouldn’t want you to get an ego. Come back, Tokiya. I’ve got you.”

Tokiya blinks the last of the tears from his eyes. “You _are_ more forceful.”

Masato smiles at him. “I have you.”

It’s the kind of sweet thing that feels out of place, here. Ren’s shuddering above them, his hips twitching with the effort of staying still, and Masato looks so at ease. Maybe, maybe if Tokiya feels almost like another person here, so does Masato. Still, Tokiya flushes a little.

Softly, he says, “Okay.” He lets Masato guide Ren’s cock into his mouth, curls his lips over his teeth, breathes through his nose. The hot weight of it, stretching his jaw, pressing against his tongue, still makes Tokiya’s stomach flip with giddy pleasure. Ren’s hand is light in his hair, not guiding, not pushing, just there. While he doesn’t want to gag again, someday - someday he’d like to feel him push.

Masato fists the base of Ren’s cock and strokes, moving with Tokiya. He slides the fingers of his free hand into Tokiya’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Tokiya’s fingers twitch on Ren’s thighs.

Tokiya can tell before it happens, the way Masato takes a breath and holds it, that Masato’s gearing up for something. But the hands in his hair don’t push, the rhythm of Masato’s fist doesn’t change.

It’s his voice, low but clear, commanding, “Come for him… Ren.”

Ren grits, “Fuck-!” He tips, he comes, he shakes so hard Tokiya can’t catch it all, a stripe of come spattering over his cheek. Tokiya coughs out of surprise, watching Ren fall apart with wide eyes.

Softly, awed, Masato says, “I… I didn’t think that would work.”

“That worked,” Tokiya rasps. He wipes his face on the back of his hand.

Ren mumbles, “Oh, God.” He hiccups, turns his face away, starts to laugh against his own shoulder.

As one, Masato and Tokiya rise up on their knees. Masato touches Ren’s face. Tokiya rubs his chest.

“Ren,” says Masato. It’s so quiet, tentative.

Ren shivers. “What do I - can I —?”

“Yes,” Masato whispers.

“ _Masa_ ,” says Ren, but it’s half swallowed by Masato surging up to kiss him, a desperate noise working its way out of him. Masato, who is always silent.

Tokiya leans back out of the way, lets Ren get his arms around Masato and kiss him to within an inch of his life.

Carefully, Tokiya gets to his feet. His calves and ankles ache from being compressed, and his thighs are still a little shaky-weak. He totters as far as the edge of the bed, sitting beside Ren. They’re really going at it, Masato’s arms wrapped around Ren’s head and his hips working insistently over Ren’s thigh.

Tokiya thinks maybe he ought to feel jealous, but all he can muster is tired. His throat is sore, his pride wounded, his hand and mouth sticky. The more he tastes it, the less startling the taste of come is, but he still doesn’t much care for it. It’s a little confusing to try and reconcile with just how much he liked sucking cock. Especially now that he’s come down off the high of their attention.

Masato is still so beautiful, and he goes off like a shot, his face creased like he’s about to cry. He comes into Ren’s hand with barely more than a touch, he’s been on edge so long. And then he _does_ sob. He hides his face in Ren’s neck, but that shuddering breath is impossible to mistake.

“Whoa, hey,” Ren croons, pulling him close. “Masato. Beautiful, darlin’, hey.”

Ren glances over at Tokiya, nods his head toward Masato like _help me here_. Guilt lances through Tokiya. That was a big thing they just did, and here he’s been focused on himself.

Gently, Tokiya curls his hand over Masato’s where it’s fisted in Ren’s hair, helps him relax his fingers. “Masa. We’re here.”

Masato stays still, though his shoulders shake. He lets Tokiya move his hand, twine their fingers, but he doesn’t let go of Ren. For his part, Ren holds Masato close with his cleaner hand, holding the hand Masato came into at an odd angle away from them both. Tokiya takes pity on him, shifts to grab a few tissues one-handed. Somehow, he and Ren manage to clean them up at least passably without letting Masato go at all.

Ren gives him a wry, warm smile. “Ichi, you had something to do with all of this, didn’t you?”

“Ah,” says Tokiya, but Masato nods and squeezes his hand. “I. I didn’t understand why you addressed one another so… coldly.”

“Do you want me to use your name, too?” asks Ren, avoiding the point.

Tokiya sighs, leaning back on his hands. He knows the nickname came about as a way of taking him down a peg, reminding him he’s _not_ number one. But it’s what Ren calls him, colored now with affection. “It’s not going to have the same effect, I think.”

Ren chuckles. “Probably not.” He presses his cheek against Masato’s hair. “Come back to us, baby, let me see your face.”

“Ugh,” says Masato, but he lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, the end of his nose pink. “This is embarrassing.”

Ren gives him a besotted grin. “You said _my_ name and I about knocked Ichi’s teeth out.”

Tokiya catches on, musters his courage to say, “I gagged.”

“A banner day for the three of us,” says Ren, warm and soft. He kisses Masato’s forehead. “But no real harm done, right?”

Masato frowns, but Ren noses the severe wrinkle between his eyebrows. “No harm done,” he repeats.

“Actually, we should talk,” says Tokiya, hating the words as soon as they leave his mouth. “About, um. That.”

Ren makes a quiet, questioning noise, turns his face toward Tokiya. Masato takes the opening and leans his cheek against Ren’s shoulder.

Okay, so it’s on Tokiya to talk. This isn’t a surprise. “When I left yesterday. I. I didn’t have a chance to tell you why.”

Ren’s expression softens. “You had an out. Cesshi would’ve been suspicious if you’d out-stayed him, and it was getting late — oh, hell, do you need to go now?”

Tokiya swallows. “I can stay. If you want me to stay, I can.”

Ren smiles. He uncurls one arm from Masato and wraps it around Tokiya, warm and easy and strong. “‘Course I do.”

“I just. I don’t want there to be.” He pauses, frowns. “Ambiguity.”

“No, no, you’re right,” says Ren. “Can we talk in bed, though? This one’s getting cold.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Masato grouses, though he’s clearly got no plan to disentangle himself from Ren.

“And you’re getting cold,” Ren says, running his hand over Masato’s back. “Come on.”

Tokiya just climbs up the bed to wriggle under the sheets. He stretches out on his back, cracks his jaw on a yawn. It takes just about that long for Masato to uncurl and slip from Ren’s lap. He makes a low, soft noise, little more than a sigh, when Ren starts massaging the backs of his thighs.

They flop into the bed ungracefully, neither quite willing to let go of the other, and worse when Masato reaches for Tokiya to include him. Tokiya ends up doubly little-spoon, with Masato at his back and Ren behind him. Ren fumbles for the light and it goes dark.

“Okay, talking,” says Tokiya, sighing into the darkness. Maybe it’ll be easier, not seeing their faces? “Right?”

“Mm,” says Ren, reaching over Masato to squeeze Tokiya’s hip.

“Masa and I were talking about it,” Tokiya continues softly. “About the things we should be able to … to believe, no matter what.”

“So even if we don’t get the chance to speak about it, we aren’t misunderstanding each other,” Masato adds.

Ren hums. His thumb draws idle patterns on Tokiya’s hipbone, tracing the ridge. “Like, if we’re here, it’s not out of obligation,” he murmurs.

Tokiya smiles a little against the pillow. “Oh, no, not _sex_.”

“Would you call it… a _hard_ ship?” asks Ren. Tokiya can feel the motion of him grinding through Masato, digging his hand into Tokiya’s hip.

“I am _leaving_ ,” says Masato, shoving Ren back.

“No! No, you aren’t,” says Ren, laughing. He holds Masato closer, nuzzles his neck. “Because one of those things I know for sure is that you like me just as much as I like you. And I? Like _every part of you_ ,” he purrs.

There’s a pause.

With an air of resignation, Masato says, “You called it.”

Tokiya dissolves into helpless laughter, only made worse when Ren says, “What?”

Masato puts on his best helpful tone and explains, “Tokiya assumed, and rightly, that you’d take what was meant to be a serious discussion and make it about dick.”

“I _am_ serious about dick,” says Ren sagely. “It’s one of the best things to be serious about. I spent hours in silent contemplation on the nature of two gorgeous, delicious cocks and how best to pursue them—“

“ _Delicious!_ ” wheezes Tokiya, shaking with laughter.

“Silent,” deadpans Masato.

“And now I have them in my grasp - metaphorically _and literally_ _,_ ” Ren continues, undeterred, “and I am serious about keeping them that way.”

“Then prove it,” says Masato.

Ren pushes himself up on his elbow. Tokiya can feel it in the way Masato’s bodyweight shifts against him, the shadow of Ren looming in the dark. “I mean it. You - both of you. I can’t even get words around how much I want you. All the time.”

“Jinguuji—“

“Masato,” says Tokiya, before Ren can respond. He could feel it, the dismissal and the distance. If it’s icy to him, it must be painful for Ren.

Masato’s mouth shuts with a click.

Ren lays back down.

Tokiya swallows. “It’s the same for me,” he says, his words lonely in the silent dark. “I want you. I did even before this. I. I’m with Ren on this one. It’s sex and it’s. It’s everything else. It’s being close to you, it’s having you around. To rely on, to work with, to talk to. To.” He stops, his throat getting thick. He tries to clear it, tries to keep going. “What the two of you have already is… intense. At the least, Masa, you can’t deny that.”

“Ichi,” says Ren.

“Masato first,” says Tokiya firmly. He winces, bites his cheek. “I mean. Don’t. Don’t give him a chance not to answer.”

Masato is quiet. Tokiya can feel him withdrawing, his hands curled over his own chest. They’re barely touching anymore, despite being crammed together in the bed.

“I’m. Sorry. Ren, I’m sorry,” he whispers.

For a brief moment, Tokiya feels the bone-deep horror of the words Masato might say. _I can’t do this_ or _I’m done_. They’ve pushed him too far, scared him.

It’s almost worse when he hears Masato whisper, “I love you. It’s not want. Stop saying _want_.”

No, not almost. It’s infinitely worse, cutting through Tokiya like a hot wire. He’d known he was the third wheel, known he was going to get hurt, but this is sooner than he’d expected. And it _hurts_ , cuts off his air and rings in his head and closes a steel fist around his heart. Somehow it’s so much worse, like they’d used him. Like he was a crutch for their relationship, forcing them to finally just talk to each other like adults. He hides it in the dark, curling away from Masato so Ren can have him, so they can have each other. If he breathes slow and quiet it’s like he’s not there. They won’t hear him, they won’t notice.

He doesn’t hear the words they whisper to each other over the rush of blood in his ears. He can feel his resolve starting to splinter, tries to tell himself to keep it together. It was just sex, it was just friends with benefits. That’s what the word _want_ is for, it’s for that distinction. They have a decade of history, and he’s just. He’s just himself. He can’t cry here, he’ll shake and they’ll hear it. He has to -

The lights are on and there are four hands on him, sitting him up, holding him tight. He shakes his head, cracking. Wretchedly, he whispers, “Sorry. Sorry.”

“No,” says Masato. “I. I shouldn’t have surprised you.”

Ren pulls Tokiya against his chest. Tokiya tries to curl away, and he can’t tell whether he’s disappointed or relieved when Ren lets him. “Tokiya,” Ren whispers, “Tokiya, babe.”

Tokiya shakes his head. “Don’t. It’s okay, I’m.”

“Don’t?” Ren asks.

“I’m. Going to go after all,” Tokiya chokes out. He can’t even look at them, can’t keep the tears from spilling from his eyes. Fuck, he’s such a child.

Both of them reach for him, Masato with his hands on Tokiya’s knees and Ren’s over his shoulders. “No, hold on,” says Ren, but his tone is softer now.

“Please stay,” Masato says. “Please.”

“I can’t,” says Tokiya, “I’m not— I can’t.”

“Ichi, do you think it’s possible to love two people at once? Like, really, deeply love them.”

Tokiya winces, trying to shake Ren’s hands from his shoulders. “You don’t. Don’t lie.”

“I do. You said it yourself. You said it was everything - being together, relying on one another. Knowing you’re there. I’ve… I’ve been stupid in love with you since you came back to us.” Ren’s talking fast, now, his words running together. “I’m not doing this without you, I’m not doing this without Masato. Both of you, I need you both. I love you, I love you—“

Tokiya chokes, a terrible, high little noise, and hides his face in his hands.

Softly, gently, Masato says, “I love you, Tokiya. I love you, too. I’m so tired of pretending I don’t. I’d love you even if I couldn’t touch you. Even if I could never see you again.”

He knows he should speak, knows he should fight them, or cave, or something, but it’s all he can do to breathe. This time, when Ren pulls him in, he goes.

“I think you’re crying because you feel it too,” Ren murmurs to him. “If I… if I thought I’d lost either of you I’d do the same.”

“You haven’t,” says Masato, pressing himself to Tokiya’s side. “Please, just talk to us.” He offers a tissue, and Tokiya gratefully takes it, pressing it to his mouth. He tries, tries to get the tears under control, tries just to breathe.

Ren says, “Oh, God. You thought we didn’t care.” He kisses the side of Tokiya’s head, pulls the blankets up and around them. “Of course we do. Of _course_ we do.”

Tokiya blows his nose. Masato brings the box of tissues closer, sets them in Tokiya’s lap. He goes through them one by one, until a small flock of balled-up tissues dot the comforter in front of him. He scrubs at his eyes, fighting the exhaustion that comes on him after crying. Still, he can’t quite look at them. He knows he’ll crack again, that more tears will come from _somewhere_ deep inside him.

Weak, quiet, he whispers, “It’s only been two days.”

“Do you really think of it that way?” asks Masato softly.

Tokiya swallows. And again. His throat is so dry. Finally, he has to admit, “No.”

Ren leans his cheek into Tokiya’s hair. Masato wraps his arms around Tokiya, puts their foreheads together. “Tokiya. Tokiya, you know this was so, so dangerous. Do you believe I’d do it if I didn’t love you?”

Tokiya sighs, a slow exhale. “No.”

“You know Ren wouldn’t either,” says Masato.

Breathing is easier. Tokiya takes a deeper breath, lets it out. It only shakes a little. “I know.”

And he does. Before they kissed, before Ren even came to Tokiya for advice, he knew them. Trusted them. Worried about them, cared for them, adored them. Every time Masato settled by him to share peaceful silence, he felt it. Every time Ren touched his shoulder or his back, shared a knowing glance as group elders, he felt it. Watching Ren dance in the mirror. Watching Masato’s hands on the piano. The sound of Ren’s laughter, of Masato finally singing with all his strength.

“Selfishly, I. I want you to love me back,” says Masato. “But if you don’t - just. Just don’t leave.”

Quickly, because he can’t stand the thought of either of them feeling unsure, he says, “No. I love you. I love you both. Please.”

Masato sighs out, shaky, cups the side of Tokiya’s face and kisses him. The pressure makes Tokiya sniffle, too close to tears to stop it. Ren still takes his turn after Masato, kissing Tokiya firmly. There’s no tease here, just the press of lips to seal a pact, pressing love into his skin.

The enormity of it hits. Tokiya sags, rubbing his face with his hands. He feels wrung out and cradled at the same time. There’s nothing left in him but the two of them.

“In a minute,” says Ren, “I’m going to get us some water.”

“Not yet,” Tokiya rasps, leaning into him.

“Not yet,” Ren agrees.

“When… when he gets up, I’m going to set an alarm,” says Masato.

Tokiya lets a laugh bubble out of him. “Masa.”

“D’you have something in the morning?” asks Ren.

“Not staying in bed with you all day,” says Masato.

Ren says, “Aww."

Tokiya just sighs, leaning against Ren’s chest. Relief is lightness and weight all at once, and he can feel himself starting to slip. His eyes are so tired, his throat so raw. Ren is warm, Masato is warm. He is loved.


	6. Examining the Subjective Length of a Shower

“Nooooooo.”

Tokiya’s not sure who says it. It must be Ren, from the proximity.

He cracks one eye open, sees Masato reaching for his phone to snooze the alarm. The blinds let in just the first hints of a warm orange sunrise, gentle on Tokiya’s eyes. Still, he drops his head and turns his face down into the pillow.

“Why did you set it so _early_ ,” Ren moans.

“I believe,” says Masato, pausing to yawn, “the intent was to get Tokiya back to his room before Ittoki missed him.”

“ _That_ cat’s outta the bag,” says Ren, “it’s morning.”

Tokiya groans into the pillow. “You might be right.”

As he wakes up, he takes stock of himself. His throat doesn’t ache anymore. Ren and Masato had coaxed water into him, had held him until he’d gotten the strength to totter to the bathroom and wash his face. He remembers that, and sinking back down into the warmth they preserved for him. His eyes are heavy and tired, but that’s as much from sleep as crying.

He hisses when Masato throws the comforter off in an attempt to get them up. “We have work ahead of us, don’t we?”

Ren jealously pulls Tokiya to him, shivering. “Then you can have dibs on the shower. How’s that?”

Masato pauses. Tokiya peeks up at him, sees the frown starting at the corners of his eyes. Resolutely, Masato takes a breath and says, “You are attempting to call my bluff. It doesn’t work if I’m not bluffing.”

“Masa,” Ren says with a sigh, “you don’t want all three of us in there. Someone’ll fall. It’ll be bad.”

“So bad,” Tokiya agrees. He puts his forehead to Ren’s neck and sighs at how warm his skin is on Tokiya’s tired eyes.

Masato sighs. “Try not to fall asleep while I’m gone, please.”

“Wanna eat with you, before I’ve gotta pack and stuff,” Ren agrees. “Leavin’ tonight.”

“I know,” says Masato, soft. He gets up, the loss of his weight on the mattress pushing Tokiya closer to Ren.

Ren sighs. Tokiya nuzzles into his neck, warm and fuzzy. He could doze here, under Ren’s warm weight in the quiet dawn. His body is heavy, weak-limbed with sleepiness, his hands clumsy where they slide over Ren’s back.

The water comes on. Ren murmurs, “You heard him, love. Stay awake.”

Tokiya’s heart jumps at the pet name. “I am,” he mumbles around a slow-growing smile.

Ren lifts his head, kisses Tokiya’s forehead. “Look at me,” he coaxes, rubbing his hand over Tokiya’s side. Tokiya does his best to comply, gazing up at Ren with eyes that only want to half focus, only pick up on a soft halo the color of sunrise. “There you are,” Ren says, and God, his morning breath is _awful_.

He laughs when Tokiya wrinkles his nose. Rather than pull away, he ducks his head so his mouth is close to Tokiya’s ear. “This better? You aren’t so fresh yourself, you know.”

“Sorry?” Tokiya murmurs without really meaning it. His systems come online slowly, reporting Ren’s hand passing over his ribs, his belly. Ren’s breath on his ear, Ren’s weight holding him down.

“Wanted to ask you,” Ren whispers, “if you feel like we’d be going behind Masato’s back, but. But, now you’ve put this idea in my head and I can’t let go of it.”

Tokiya hums, not quite following. “What idea?” he asks. Ren’s petting grows purposeful, tracing the same triangle over and over. Tokiya’s ribs, his navel, his hip, and back up, and back down, over and over.

“I want to fuck you. Wanna open you up, get inside you.”

Heat shoots through Tokiya’s chest, down to his cock. When did he get hard? Was it just now, was it to the rhythm of Ren’s wandering hand? He nods, gasping when Ren slips his tongue into his ear, tracing the hard ridges of cartilage. “Ah — yes.”

“Hijiri doesn’t like the idea. Thinks it’s gross,” Ren whispers to him. “Perverted. You know? But it’s not like we’re hiding it from him. You heard him before.” Ren drags his thumb over the seam of Tokiya’s thigh where it meets his body, urges him to lift his leg. Ren gets his hand under Tokiya’s ass, squeezes hard. “He doesn’t want to be around for it.”

Tokiya squirms, trying to lift his hips. But Ren is heavy on his side, keeping him from getting very far. He doesn’t fight it, just digs his hands into Ren’s hair and the sheets, spreads his legs as best he can. It’s like an instinctive reaction, wanting to open up for Ren as much as possible. Ren rewards him by pressing his palm flat to the skin behind his balls, and the heat of it lights him up. “Ren,” he whispers.

“The things I want to do to you,” Ren murmurs, hot and low and dark. “Wanna hear you scream for me, Ichi. Wanna take you to pieces, ‘cause you go so easy. You’re so worked up already, I’ve barely touched you.”

Tokiya closes his eyes tight, knowing he’s right. He shivers, shame and lust mixing in his gut. “Ren,” he says again, but the words he means to say after are lost to a hiss. Ren’s resumed tonguing his ear, nibbling on the shell of it, breathing hot and hard down his neck.

Ren presses one finger between Tokiya’s cheeks and rubs, dry and teasing, at his hole. Ticklish discomfort rises at the drag of Ren’s skin. Tokiya can’t feel the ridges of his fingerprint, he knows it’s impossible, but his nerves are telling him something else entirely. Tokiya grinds out, “Not - not fair. Teasing.”

Ren rumbles a soft hum, “Sorry. When I’m gone, I’m getting supplies. Everything you’ll want.” He withdraws his hand, moving to squeeze the base of Tokiya’s cock. He smiles when Tokiya tenses up. “So when I get back, I can do it right. Would you let me do that, baby?”

Tokiya covers his mouth to catch the whine that escapes him, gives him away. Ren purrs, slipping his thigh between Tokiya’s, pressing his cock to Tokiya’s hip. “Yeah, you would. Let me work you up, spread you on my fingers—“ he strokes up over Tokiya’s cock so firm, so tight Tokiya arches, “—yeah, until you can’t even breathe you want it so bad, and just _keep you there_. Gonna make you feel so good, baby, gonna fill you up like you need.”

Tokiya whimpers, strung out on Ren’s voice and the steady pressure of his strokes. He can almost see it, can almost _feel_ it, Ren over him and pounding into him, Ren splitting him apart until he can’t remember his own name, making him come and fucking him through it, not stopping until he can take what he wants—

Ren rubs his cock into the hollow of Tokiya’s hip, hissing in his ear. “And then, oh. Then, _we’re gonna switch_.” He twists his wrist as Tokiya bucks into his hand. “You hear me, gorgeous? Because I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

Tokiya drops his hand from his mouth and digs his nails into Ren’s shoulders. “Yes — fuck, fuck, yes,” he gasps, shaking with the promise of it, and Ren moans and kisses him hard, morning breath forgotten. Their teeth clack when they meet but Tokiya doesn’t care. He digs his hands into Ren’s hair and pulls him down harder, crushing their mouths together. It’s a blinding, suffocating press that only gets better when Ren lines their cocks up and grinds down into him. Tokiya presses his thighs to Ren’s hips and arches so Ren has to push him back down into the bed, thrills when Ren obliges him.

“Soon, soon,” Ren mumbles against his mouth. Tokiya tries to haul him back down, but Ren grins and bites his lip hard enough for the shock of pain to make him loosen his hands.

In that one moment of weakness, Ren slips free of Tokiya’s grip and slides down the bed, swallowing Tokiya’s cock to the base. It’s so fast Tokiya chokes on his breath, his hands still suspended above his head. Ren sucks. Tokiya whips a pillow over his face and cries out into it, mashing the fabric into his mouth. It’s too much, perfect and slick and so hot, Ren’s so _hot_.

Ren pulls Tokiya’s orgasm out of him with his greedy mouth, swallowing around him while he shakes. Even once Tokiya’s given all he can, Ren licks over his cock, sucks it back into his mouth as it softens. It sends little stuttering curls of warmth through Tokiya’s body, from his balls down to his knees, the arches of his feet, up through his belly and his chest to the pulse in his throat. Tokiya kneads the pillow over his face, clutches at it like he’d hold Ren if he could, though it makes him lightheaded.

When Ren pulls off of him, he crawls up over Tokiya’s body and coaxes the pillow out of Tokiya’s arms. He sits upright, hot and heavy over Tokiya’s hips, taking his cock in his hand. “Ichi,” he breathes, stroking himself, “oh.”

Tokiya’s breath catches. Ren’s body is all long lines and lean muscle, every plane of him sheened with sweat. He moves fluidly, no desperation on him but in the flex of his wrist. He thrusts into his hand slow and easy, and from his expression he knows he’s putting on a show.

“You gonna help me or just watch?” Ren asks, his attention focused fully on Tokiya’s face.

Every shift in Ren’s weight goes through Tokiya before it hits the mattress. Tokiya presses his palms to Ren’s thighs, seeking steadiness that Ren’s motion denies him. He swallows, his eyes locked on Ren’s cock as it passes through his fist.

“Why did you - you always. Why do you always make me come first?” Tokiya asks.

Ren shivers. “Mm, same reason you’re watching now,” he murmurs. He arches, putting himself on better display, so Tokiya can see the aching line of his throat.

Tokiya flushes, but the heat in his face is a frustrated sort of want. He digs his thumb into the bruise on Ren’s thigh, relishing the way Ren jolts and bites his lip to muffle a groan.

“It’s not fair,” Tokiya reprimands, sounding sterner than he feels. “You aren’t always going to get away with it.”

“Oo, baby, what’re you gonna do to me,” Ren purrs. Tokiya knows it’s meant to be a joke, but Ren’s breathless and watching him, challenge in his eyes.

Tokiya swallows, trying to choose. How Ren just _says_ things is beyond him, when Tokiya can hardly string a sentence together and he’s already come. He rubs his hands in slow circles over Ren’s thighs, catching his breath. Then - then the idea hits, like revenge but better.

“You,” he begins, licks his lips and tries again, “You’re gonna - you’re gonna fuck me first, right? It’s going to, uh. It’s going to take time, it’s not like I’ll just be able to—“

Ren grins. “Yeah, gonna take my time with you. I don’t wanna hurt you. Gonna have to get you ready nice and slow,” he murmurs. His eyes glaze over, like he’s lost in his head just thinking about it. Like he’s planned this.

Tokiya pinches his thigh. “Then. Whatever you do to me, when it’s my turn, I’ll. I’ll go twice as slow.” To Tokiya’s ears, he sounds amateur, a little silly. But Ren shivers, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah?” Ren breathes. “Tell me.”

Tokiya chews his lip. “You’re. Impatient to get me off, so I’ll. I’ll have to work on your patience, isn’t that it?” He watches Ren’s hand twist, picking up the pace. With more confidence, he says, “So I’ll have to go slow with you, as slow as I can to show you what it’s like.”

He catches Ren’s wrist, makes him stop. To his surprise and delight, Ren’s hips still, too. Ren just watches him, his mouth open and panting, taut as a bowstring.

“Yeah. Like this,” Tokiya whispers. He drags Ren’s hand up over his own cock with aching slowness, his thumb pressed hard to the inside of Ren’s wrist. “Won’t stop even if you come. Won’t stop until I’m done with you.”

“Fuck,” Ren whispers, punched-out through his teeth. “Gonna make me beg?”

Tokiya can’t tell when he started smiling. He can’t stop. The words come out easier now, with Ren shivering over him. “You said you’d die if I didn’t fuck you. So, if you don’t want to die, you’ll beg.”

Ren tries to move his hand. Tokiya stops him. Ren’s chest heaves just once before he stills again.

“You heard me,” says Tokiya, his voice so much steadier than the racing of his heart. “Beg.”

The tendons in Ren’s wrist are so delicate under Tokiya’s fingers. Ren’s shaking, tiny tremors as he wets his lips and whispers, “Please.”

Tokiya swallows. “What are you asking for?”

Ren laughs weakly. “Don’t even know. Please, Ichi, please. Need you.”

Tokiya tightens his grip until Ren’s hand spasms open, guides it away from Ren’s cock. Ren winces, whining, “Ichi, no, please.”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, taking both of Ren’s wrists and pulling him down, down to rest on his elbows over Tokiya again, their noses brushing. “Shh, I hear you.” He squeezes Ren’s biceps, runs his hands over Ren’s sides in slow passes, feeling the way he shivers.

Tokiya presses his palm to Ren’s mouth. With a wry smile, he says, “Spit.”

Ren huffs a laugh and says, “Ew.” But he presses his tongue to Tokiya’s hand, lets drool run down it as he traces the tip over Tokiya’s skin. Though he could grind down and press their hips together, he doesn’t. He’s holding himself up, waiting.

Is it odd to find that sweet? Tokiya’s struck with the urge to pet him. He indulges by stroking through Ren’s hair, pulling it back from his face. Ren sucks two of Tokiya’s fingers into his mouth, fluttering his tongue between them, and Tokiya jolts, pulling back with a wet pop.

Ren grins, sealing their mouths together with a kiss. Tokiya walks his fingertips down Ren’s belly, catches his cock and lets the head of it rest against his palm. Ren gasps, and into the space it makes Tokiya whispers, “Beg.”

This time, he feels it, the way Ren shivers and his cock jumps in Tokiya’s hand. Ren drops his head to the pillow beside Tokiya and says, “Oh-h, fuck. Please. Please, Ichi, please touch me.” Tokiya starts to move, stroking slowly over him, and he sighs. “Yeah, just. C’mon, faster.”

“Faster what?” asks Tokiya, grinning.

“Faster _please_ , fuck—“ says Ren, torn between a moan and a laugh. “Give you a little bit of power and you fuck me up, oh. Don’t stop, like that. Pl-ease, don’t stop.”

Tokiya wouldn’t now, not like this. Not when Ren is shaking, stuttery jerks of his hips into Tokiya’s hand, desperate breath in Tokiya’s ear. Almost to himself, he murmurs, “I like you like this.”

Ren moans, soft and low. “Ichi, please. Please, baby, please,” he begs, over and over to the rhythm of Tokiya’s strokes.

It starts slow, overtaking him piece by piece, when he comes. From his cock outward, weakening his knees, so he can only hold himself up on his arms. Ren shudders, words finally failing him, gasping mindless little noises into the pillow by Tokiya’s head. Wet, sticky warmth spatters up Tokiya’s chest, and he gives Ren’s cock an affectionate squeeze before letting go.

Tokiya listens to Ren catch his breath, pets through his hair. “Hey. Ren.”

“Mmn,” says Ren, not lifting his head.

“Ren, was that okay?” Tokiya asks.

Ren stills, picks his head up, squints at Tokiya. “Ichi. I just came my _brains_ out and you wanna know if you did it right.”

“I am checking in,” says Tokiya defiantly, squinting at him in response.

Ren huffs a little, and this time he drops his full weight on Tokiya. Tokiya grunts, squirming as he feels come ooze into his navel, ticklish and disconcerting. “Ren!”

“We’re gonna shower in a minute,” Ren says, making no move to get up. “And I’m tired. I came my brains out. Did you notice? They’re gone now.”

Tokiya sighs. He pokes the side of Ren’s head. “You never answered me.”

Ren nuzzles the side of Tokiya’s face. “It was good.” And then, softer, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Tokiya murmurs. It’s hard to breathe with Ren’s weight on him, but not impossible. It’s nice, and warm, and despite himself it inspires a little drowsiness. He shifts, just enough to get Ren to stop squishing him, and closes his eyes.

“I thought I asked you not to fall asleep,” says Masato. He sounds thoroughly unsurprised.

Tokiya cracks one eye open to see him, perfectly clean from head to foot, wrapped in a navy blue towel. He even dried his hair. Did Tokiya really miss the sound of a hairdryer? “I’m not,” he creaks.

Ren pushes himself up and they both say, “Ulgh,” when their skin sticks together. But only Tokiya has the presence of mind to say, “Dibs!”

“I cleaned up after the mess I made,” Ren grumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t get a chance,” Tokiya counters, finally sitting up. He rolls out his shoulders, stretches his back. “Someone decided that falling on me was a better choice.”

“You made me weak,” Ren simpers, leaning in to kiss Tokiya’s jaw.

“Dibs are dibs,” says Tokiya, dodging him and getting to his feet. When he sees Masato’s sour expression, he says, “—Uh.”

“No, this works out well,” says Ren, patting his ass. “I’ll take care of Masa here and by the time you’re done it’ll be my turn. Since we know I don’t have to get him dirty again.”

Masato raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a chore to be done.”

Ren beams. “Nope, you’re a fuckin’ delight, love. Drop the towel.”

“Ren—”

Tokiya scratches at his belly where it’s starting to itch. “Are you actually jealous, or just annoyed?”

Masato opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, as a flush blooms on his cheeks.

“Annoyed,” says Ren, advancing on him like a tiger stalking its kill. Or, perhaps not so predatory. More like a cat about to finally vanquish the elusive laser dot on the carpet.

Tokiya can see the way Masato’s reluctance hitches, then subsides with Ren’s first gentle touch to the side of his neck. And oh, he dearly wants to watch this, but he can feel the rest of the day bearing in on them, making their time short. They probably wasted too much in bed already.

Another time, another time. There has to be.

The sound of the shower drowns out the first of Masato’s gasps. He can’t keep his imagination from filling in for him - Ren on his knees, Masato pressing his back to the wall. Funny, how concrete his fantasies are now he’s seen them both, knows the way Ren’s cheeks hollow and the flush that runs up his throat, knows how Masato’s body responds with everything but sound, pretty little shivers and shakes. Ren would swallow. That’s what he meant, keeping Masato from getting dirty. It comes so easy to him, Tokiya can’t help but wonder how much practice he’s had.

_“I was gonna offer to show Ichi how to deepthroat on you—”_

Oh, and that. Tokiya rubs his neck, presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Gagging was deeply unpleasant, but. But more than that, it was embarrassing. Ren takes both of them like it’s a skill he’s acquired. Did he practice on Masato? His own fingers?

Tokiya jumps when the bathroom door swings open. Guilty, he shoves his dry head under the spray of the shower so it doesn’t look like he’s been caught fantasizing.

“Hey, Ichi, lemme in,” says Ren, poking his head past the shower curtain.

“Brush your teeth first, I’ll be done by then,” Tokiya says, hoping his blush is hidden by the water. He gives himself the world’s fastest scrubdown, nearly braining himself with a bottle of scented body wash. He forgoes his hair, just ruffling water into it to make it look like he’d washed it, and climbs out while Ren’s still spitting into the sink. He grabs the towel still hanging from the door - it must be Ren’s? - and dries himself as best he can without completely soaking it.

How is it he’s capable of being a normal person in front of a hundred thousand fans, but one shower has ruined him? He sighs, but it’s cut off when Ren gives him a minty kiss. His mouth is lovely, but the tacky come on his belly and the sweat drying on his skin is less so. Tokiya ducks away from him, swatting his shoulder. “Go, go.”

“Brush _your_ teeth,” Ren says in return, and Tokiya sighs. He turns to the sink, prepared to use his finger, but he finds a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, resting on the edge.

With a weird, warm little flutter in his chest, he opens the packaging and brushes his teeth. Partway through, Masato comes to the door and says, “You’re probably going to have to wear yesterday’s clothes, at least to your room.”

Tokiya looks over and spits before saying, “I don’t mind. It’ll be quick.”

Masato is already dressed, and looks presentable and poised. Tokiya envies him, still feeling unbalanced. He leans past Tokiya to hang his towel on its hook, then pauses. He puts his hand on Tokiya’s back, between his shoulders.

“You’re soaked,” he says softly. His hand is hot like a brand.

Tokiya leans down, rinses his mouth out and. And, with a bit of hesitation, slips his toothbrush into the holder with Masato’s and Ren’s. It’s small and domestic. Nice.

“I didn’t want to completely use Ren’s towel,” he says. But his hair is still dripping onto his shoulders, and Masato looks disapproving.

Resigned, Masato takes his towel from the hook and loops it around Tokiya’s neck. “Mine is still damp but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” says Tokiya, smiling wryly. He pulls the towel up over his hair to catch the worst of the water. “Hey,” he says, before Masato can leave.

Masato pauses, turning toward him. Tokiya steps forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He feels Masato’s exhale.

Softly, softly, Tokiya breathes, “Love you, Masa.”

He feels it move through him, a gentle shiver that ends in a sigh. Masato relaxes, kisses him back. He curls his hands in the towel over Tokiya’s head, holds him close. “Oh. I love you,” he whispers, and Tokiya can taste the wave of passion in his mouth. Masato who feels things so deeply, whose emotions rule him if he doesn’t silence them.

Tokiya smiles, holds the side of Masato’s face. He brushes his thumb over the beauty mark under his eye. “Love you,” he repeats, empty of everything but the truth.

“Tokiya,” Masato says, like a plea.

“I do. I love you,” says Tokiya, kissing him again. Because he can, because it’s nice to kiss him without angle or agenda. Because Masato melts into it every time.

And melt Masato does, not even opening his eyes for a full breath after Tokiya pulls back. When he speaks, it’s like he’s pulling the words from the air around him, soft and a little lost. “You should… go change clothes. And meet us for breakfast.”

Tokiya reaches up, rubs the towel over his head a few times before pulling it free. He hangs it, lets Masato lead him back out into the dorm. Masato is fully dressed, and Tokiya’s wearing nothing but his skin. He almost doesn’t want to get dressed, wants instead to press against Masato, to kiss his neck and untuck his shirt.

But ah, Masato is handing him the neatly-folded stack of his clothes, and he knows he should climb into them and sneak off to his room to change. With any luck, Otoya will be gone. If not, he can make up some kind of excuse. It’ll be alright, and he’ll meet them for breakfast, and.

No, focus. He dresses, and toes into his shoes, and steals one last kiss from Masato before leaving.

Feeling a bit like a fugitive, he unlocks his door slow and quiet, easing it open as he peers inside.

Otoya is there, but dead asleep, only a starburst of bright red hair visible above the covers. Tokiya sighs. He strips down quickly, grabbing fresh clothes, then shuts himself in the bathroom. He used their soap, and he didn’t wash his hair, and it all feels and smells off.

For this shower, Tokiya actually focuses. He’s wasted enough water, and has a dry towel waiting for him. By the time he’s done, emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Otoya is sitting, rubbing at his eyes and checking his phone.

“Hey, Tokiya. When’d you get in?” he asks, his voice rough and sleepy.

Tokiya smiles at him. “You were asleep,” he says, and it’s not a lie. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Okay.” He swings himself out of bed, stretching as he stands. “I think I’m gonna go for a run before breakfast.”

“Suit yourself,” says Tokiya, amused. “Take water.”

“Yep yep,” says Otoya, yawning as he passes Tokiya. He smells like sleep and morning breath and … and it’s nothing like Ren’s. Or Masato’s. Or the smell of their bed.

The bathroom door closes behind Otoya. Tokiya lets out a slow breath, only then realizing how his heart had raced.

There, that wasn’t so hard. Otoya doesn’t suspect a thing. Calm down, calm down. He breathes slow and even until he can feel his chest relax. It feels almost like stage fright, a tingling over-awareness that makes his hands shake. Tokiya can handle stage fright.

Though he knows he needs to go, that they’re waiting on him, he gives himself a moment. He listens to the way the water in the shower lands not in a gentle stream but in great slaps, because Otoya likes catching it in his hands and splashing it everywhere like a little kid. He can smell Otoya all over this room, the body odor and the deodorant spray and the plastic smell of the completely unnecessary assortment of sporting goods he keeps under his bed. Otoya’s guitars are in the corner, his papers all over the desk, his phone charger cord snaked out over the floor to be accidentally stepped on.

A few days ago he’d have called this home. The oscillating balance of him-and-Otoya, Otoya-and-him. Their things and their smells combining over years, separated only by the invisible line in the middle of the room. Even then, they’ve mixed up towels and pillowcases, borrowed scarves and socks and aftershave. And, on more than a few occasions, forgotten which article belonged to whom, and instated a you-wear-it-you-wash-it policy.

Red hairs in his comb. But not the right kind of red.

He isn’t sure where he fits, now. The way it feels to sink into Ren’s bed is right, the kind that saps tension from his muscles and pulls worries from his head. But it’s still Ren’s bed, it’s still Ren-and-Masato-and-also-Tokiya in that dorm, where he’s the newcomer and everything is theirs. They love him, each of them. He loves them in return. In time, the room will reflect that, won’t it?

Or it would, if they weren’t keeping a secret.

For now, there is a third toothbrush, hidden in their bathroom. Even the thought of it gives Tokiya a smile he can’t suppress. Something so little, so easy to give, and he’s happy.

Perhaps he’s lucky that they’re forced to keep their relationship quiet. If either of them attempted any more overt gestures, Tokiya might not survive it.


	7. Tokiya Loses Track of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tokiya goes to talk to Masato about a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of Ren's disordered eating. If you want to skip it, jump from:
> 
> Masato loops his arms around Tokiya’s waist. “No,” he says. 
> 
> down to 
> 
> “He’s proud,” says Masato.
> 
>  
> 
> PROPS TO MY BEAN AS ALWAYSSSS  
> Also thank you to everyone who has been commenting. This fic is just fun stress relief and I'm glad others are along for the ride :P

Ren leaves. It’s a testament to how busy Tokiya is that he doesn’t actually know when. After breakfast it was dance practice, vocal practice, meetings, responsibilities. The gym for weights with Otoya. Lunch, in there somewhere, and dinner. Bending his head with Nanami over a new song that’s giving the both of them trouble.

Nanami. Beautiful, brilliant, patient, caring Nanami. Nanami, who loves _Hayato_ and who looks at Tokiya like he hung the moon for making him. Nanami, who runs herself to exhaustion to write for them, to meet Shining’s whims to keep STARISH to herself. Tokiya knows that kind of selfishness, from the way he chafes at the thought of someone else singing her melodies.

She smells like summer flowers and baby powder. Her voice is small and high and sweet. Her skin is almost translucent in its delicacy, despite her capable hands. He loved her once and he loves her still. As his composer, as the guiding light that brought them together. As the only person that came for him, giving him her faith when everyone else had given up.

But when she turns her face to him and they’re too close, close enough that he can see her eyes widen, he doesn’t feel his heart stutter in his chest. He just moves back so she won’t be uncomfortable, gives her a gentle smile and suggests that maybe it’s late enough to call it a night.

She agrees with him in a soft, high chirp. He rises, bows, holds the door when she leaves. She smiles at him and tells him to have a good night. It all feels a little unreal.

There was a brief period of time where Tokiya let himself want Nanami. But with that want came a twist in his gut he told himself was fear. Fear of hurting her, of bruising or breaking her, of making her cry. He likes to think he knows better now.

He texts Masato, _Are you free?_

Masato replies within seconds. _Yes_

He sends, _I’m coming over_

_Ok_

Tokiya doesn’t smile at his phone, really. He can’t actually recall ever _seeing_ Masa text, so maybe he’s more like a businessman than either Tokiya or Ren expects. Tokiya takes the stairs up to the dorms two at a time, knocking as he swings the door open.

Masato is seated by his table, pulling dying roses from the bouquet. Some of them are still vibrant, but the stems that were crushed against the vase gave up. They’ve started dropping petals, going wrinkled and dry.

“Will you bring a trash can to me, please?” asks Masato, glancing over his shoulder at Tokiya.

Tokiya complies, kneeling on the other side of the table and putting the can between them. He starts thinning the bouquet where he can reach. The air smells like rose blossoms and an earthy hint of decay. The water in the vase is low.

Masato’s dark hair and fine skin contrast with the flowers. Peach-colored blooms with orange and pink hearts. Those colors live in Masato’s lips. Among other places.

“Do you mind if I tell you that you’re lovely?” Tokiya asks.

Masato gives him a narrow-eyed look. Slowly, he softens. “I suppose not.”

Tokiya hums. “You’re lovely.”

When Masa’s eyes raise again, Tokiya just smiles at him. They have a brief stare-off that ends with Masato flushing and being particularly rough with the next stem.

“You said you wouldn’t mind,” Tokiya murmurs, sweeping fallen petals from the table top.

Masato doesn’t respond, only continues removing wilted roses. His hands are deft so the wet ends of the stems don’t drip on the table. All of the baby’s breath appears to be alright, but Masato discards it. By the time he’s done, the bouquet looks better-shaped, in proportion to the vase. He refills the water, then sits back to examine his work.

Tokiya watches him, follows him to the bathroom to put the trash can away and wash his hands. But he blocks the door, leaning against the frame to dry his hands.

“Masa. Tell me what’s in your head,” he says softly.

Masato’s jaw clenches, relaxes. “I might mind.”

Tokiya swallows. “Ah. Then, what should I say?”

“It’s silly,” says Masato, shaking his head. “But. Would you say that to Ren?”

With the care of someone tiptoeing through a minefield, Tokiya ventures, “If he ever let me get a word in edgewise?”

It’s the right thing. Masato smiles, shaking his head. He steps close enough to loom over Tokiya. “Fair.”

Tokiya tips his head up, pressing a soft kiss to Masato’s lips. “Did someone say something to you?” he murmurs, laying his palms flat on Masato’s chest. He knows this posture, makes himself just a little smaller. Because if Masato’s worried about his masculinity, Tokiya has no problem giving him a way to recover.

Masato loops his arms around Tokiya’s waist. “No,” he says.

Tokiya searches his face, sighs a little. A change of subject, maybe. Masato’s looking stubborn. “Then. You promised me a story. Come sit with me?”

“Oh — oh, that.” Masato reaches out, turning off the light in the bathroom. “I did promise.”

Tokiya smiles. He rises up onto his toes and kisses Masato again, quick, before slipping out of his arms and tugging him toward the sofa. Masato seems indulgent enough, lets Tokiya arrange them so Tokiya’s legs are over his lap. His long fingers find the rips in Tokiya’s jeans, trace the edges where he can reach Tokiya’s skin. He taps the freckles on Tokiya’s knees.

“It’s been years, now,” says Masato softly. “You mean about how Ren and I … how.”

Tokiya sees the tension in his shoulders, says, “You don’t have to.”

“No, I. It’s just, I get angry when I think about it.” His mouth twitches into a wry smile, his eyes tight. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Masato pauses, takes a long, slow breath. “I caught him hiding food, not long after we debuted. Pretending to eat, spitting it into a napkin, hiding it in his pocket. At first, I thought it was just… that he didn’t like it and didn’t want to be impolite, or something. But it kept happening. He was very good at it. I… I had no idea how long he’d been doing it.”

Masato shakes his head, biting his lips. He finds a loose thread on Tokiya’s jeans and runs it through his fingers. “So. I confronted him about it. It was, perhaps, the worst choice I could have made. We fought.” He closes his eyes. “We fought for days. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to tell him he was perfect already.”

Tokiya stares. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t seen it, at all.

“But,” says Masato, sniffing hard, “eventually I figured out what I _could_ do. Ren and I have… modified contracts, to ensure we, as representatives of our families, aren’t ever made to do anything to harm the reputations of their companies. We have our own nutritionists, our own trainers. It’s why he got away with it. But. I made him come to mine.” He laughs humorlessly. “He hated it. He hated me, I think.”

“Masa—“

Masato shakes his head. “Let me say this. I hated him because I thought he was weak. At our lowest, we hated each other. But then. Then, I realized I was so mad because I knew he could do better. And he has. He does. That’s something to be proud of. His brother fired the nutritionist, the one that wasn’t watching him. I don’t think he knows exactly why, only that Ren prefers mine, now. We go to the same trainer so he doesn’t… he used to work out too much, too. He’d run like a marathoner.”

“I used to run with him. We’d do five miles, maybe seven,” says Tokiya, frowning.

“He’d do that four or five times a day,” Masato snaps. Then he winces. “I just. I don’t think I’ll ever stop watching for the signs. And. I… I’ve said too much, haven’t I?”

Tokiya sits up, catching Masato’s hands in his own. “Masa. I. Do you… do you think he’d have told me?”

“He’s proud,” says Masato.

“He is,” agrees Tokiya.

Masato draws his fingertips over Tokiya’s knuckles. “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, or so the saying goes.”

“Masa,” says Tokiya. He presses his lips together. “What happened, after?”

With a steadying breath, Masato says, “I realized I’d do anything for him. And he… he did the most difficult thing he could do for me. And. He kissed me. I didn’t know what to do.” He laughs. “It was… like climbing this mountain, but the mountain is just stones balanced on top of each other, and I’m at the top keeping my balance. And every kiss is another stone, so I’m higher and higher, and. And I thought, if I tell him what I think of him, if I say how I feel, everything’s going to fall.”

“What did you think?”

“I love him. I want to take him by the neck and _strangle_ him sometimes. But. I love him, and he’s the most beautiful thing. God.”

Tokiya swallows. Masato’s voice is low and rough and _how did Tokiya not know any of this?_ “You aren’t going to fall.”

“No,” Masato says. He turns to Tokiya, squeezing his hands tightly, his eyes too wet. “You are like mortar, do you know what I’m saying? You keep it from falling.”

“He knows you love him,” says Tokiya, unable to hide a smile. “You told him.”

“Almost at your expense!” Masato says, and that outburst is enough to make the tears fall, painting hot tracks over Masato’s cheeks.

“Masa, oh,” says Tokiya, pulling one of his hands free to press his sleeve to Masato’s face. “You made sure I got it right in the end.”

Masato closes his eyes. Tears make his lashes clump together in shining spikes. Tokiya wipes gently at them. “Tokiya. I am not very good at any of this. I apologize.”

“No,” Tokiya chides, cupping Masato’s face in his hands. “Just because you haven’t _had_ to do… the same for me, as you did for Ren? I know you would.”

“I would. We would. Oh, Ren would kill you first,” Masato whispers, grimacing. “Ren would just kill you.”

“Shh,” Tokiya soothes, scooting closer. He leans up against Masato’s chest and pulls Masato’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “I’m not. I’m okay. And you’re okay, right? And Ren?”

Masato nods. Then he huffs. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry. This is twice, in two days.”

Tokiya chuckles a little, slips his fingers into Masato’s hair. “I’m sorry. I’m… honestly I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I should have figured it out. I should have helped somehow.”

Masato shakes his head. Slowly, he winds his arms around Tokiya and holds him. “No, no. It was nice, pretending everything was normal when I could. I just liked being around you.”

“Is there anything I can do now?” Tokiya murmurs, massaging the back of Masato’s neck.

“I’ll have to confess to telling you, won’t I?” Masato whispers. “There’s nothing for that. Just. Don’t think any less of him, please. Think what you want about me, but—“

Tokiya squeezes hard. “I love you both. More every day.”

He feels Masato hiccup, the way Masato presses his face hard into the side of Tokiya’s neck. Tokiya makes soft soothing noises, can only hold him close and try to keep it together. How alone they must have felt, each of them. And in the flurry of activity, the utter chaos of their debut and the time after, with interviews and contests and performances, they were fighting? Tokiya could barely manage figuring out how to integrate into a group, and he was _used to publicity_.

Slowly, slowly Masato’s breathing evens out. Tokiya just holds him, quiet and awed. Masato called him _mortar_ , but that doesn’t feel right. Ren and Masato are solid, even if neither of them sees it. Hah, maybe he’s more like glasses.

“Masa,” he says, kissing his jaw. “Masa, do you love me? Tell me. Say it.”

“I do. I love you,” Masato whispers.

“Again,” says Tokiya, nuzzling his neck.

“I love you,” says Masato, a little stronger.

“Once more,” says Tokiya, pressing his lips to Masato’s pulse.

“I love you?”

Tokiya laughs. “Yes, that. Say it for me.”

Masato pulls back, giving him a bewildered look. His eyes are red, his cheeks damp, but he says, “I love you.” This time it comes easily, albeit a little confused.

Tokiya beams at him. “I love you, too.”

“I don’t understand your meaning,” says Masato, raising his eyebrows.

“You don’t understand that I love you?” asks Tokiya, innocently. “Should I help you understand?”

“Tokiya,” says Masato, but he’s beginning to laugh.

“Masato.”

“Okay,” says Masato, leaning in so their foreheads touch. “I love you.”

Tokiya sighs. “I love you,” he replies. “Tell me what I can do.”

Masato tips his head so the bridges of their noses slot together. “Do you think he’s lovely? Ren. Do you love him?”

“I do,” Tokiya murmurs.

“Tell him until he shuts up. He has to run out of words before he listens, and sometimes those words are just caught up in his head, and they won’t come out.” Masato sighs. Tokiya can feel Masa’s eyebrows moving where their faces are pressed together. “Help me.”

Tokiya pets the side of Masato’s face. “I will. But. Masa… Masa, whose idea was it, to try to have sex with me in the first place?”

He feels the bright, hot blush, like Masato’s turned on a heat lamp. “Ah. He. He talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

Tokiya smiles a little. “So it was Ren?”

“Not exactly,” says Masato.

“Oh,” says Tokiya softly. He rubs their noses together, finds Masato’s mouth with his own for a gentle kiss. “Both of you, then.”

Masato sighs. “We…work better when you are here.” He winces, shakes his head. “But no, that’s not it. Do you know, do you know how close you came to losing us? For lying, for hiding Hayato.” Masato presses his fingers to Tokiya’s mouth and continues, “It wasn’t just pride, it was that you didn’t trust us enough to tell us. That you had everything we didn’t realize we wanted and you _left it_. If you could leave it, could you leave the rest of us? Did we matter at all?”

Tokiya tries to speak, but Masato presses down more firmly. “No. No, you came back. And, I think, the moment you came back was the moment Ren fell. The sun was behind you and you were beautiful, you were _everything_ and we all knew it. Nanami-san knew it.”

Tokiya grabs Masato’s wrist, pulls his hand away. “Masa, I was seventeen,” he whispers.

“You came back,” says Masato. “And we love you. That’s all that I mean to say.”

“When did you… fall?” asks Tokiya softly.

Masato smiles wryly. “ It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began. ”

Tokiya pauses, narrows his eyes, leans in close. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repr—mn!” He pulls back from Masato’s kisses and cries, “You must — you _must_ allow me! To tell you! How ardently I admire and love y- _oomph_!”

Again Masato kisses him to quiet him, but he’s laughing, they’re both laughing. Tokiya’s heart hurts, heavy with revelation. And yet, and yet he’s smiling, wrapping his arms around Masato’s neck and climbing into his lap and pressing as close as he can to feel the laughter in Masato’s chest.

Masato squeezes Tokiya’s hips with both hands, murmuring, “Mister Darcy, really?”

“You started it,” Tokiya accuses.

“I did, but it was also the truth,” says Masato. He sighs. “Can you tell me? When did you fall for me, or Ren? Either of us.”

Tokiya chews his lip. “I know it was after… after our debut. Because I was pulled in so many different directions, I didn’t know enough of who I was to…”

He shakes his head, slides out of Masato’s lap. “I wasn’t even myself, for so long.”

Masato rubs circles on his lower back, smooths the wrinkles in his shirt. “You were yourself soon enough.”

“There was enough of me there for you to like,” says Tokiya, smiling wryly. “So that counts for something.”

“Doesn’t it?” Masato murmurs.

Tokiya sighs. “I liked singing with you. Our cross unit, just the two of us, that was. Maybe that was when.”

“That was nice,” says Masato.

For a moment, they’re quiet. They still perform those songs together, but so rarely, now. When they were first writing together, struggling and too agreeable, too patient with one another to even start, that was the heart of it. The more Tokiya considers it, the surer he becomes. Yes, then. It was then that he started to truly adore Masato.

And Ren… came along with the package, maybe. He used to be infuriating, so forward with Nanami and so knowing. Like he was everyone’s older brother and nobody had any secrets. But at some point, it became a comfort. Because even if Ren seemed to know everything, he never held it against you.

It’s flattering to know how long they wanted him. He almost feels guilty for not reciprocating earlier. But they’d always been a unit. Ren-and-Masato, Masato-and-Ren, roommates and complementary colors and childhood rivals. Fire and water. Passion and restraint.

But that’s reductive, isn’t it? That’s the kind of descriptor that gets put on a trading card, or a social media bio, or said by a game show announcer. Because Masato’s passion runs deep as an ocean, with currents and waves and crushing inevitability. And Ren is restraint, patient and coaxing and artful, never taking what he wants until he’s given it.

And Tokiya, in the middle, finally learning.

“Tokiya?” Masato asks, quiet.

Tokiya looks over at him, smiles. “I love you.”

Masato sighs. He leans Tokiya up against his chest and says, “I love you in return.”

“It’s nice to say, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And to hear.”

Tokiya nuzzles his jaw. “Yes.”

Masato sighs. And after a long pause, murmurs, “How… did Ren convince you?”

“Convince me?” Tokiya doesn’t lift his head, but he can feel Masato’s neck heating up.

“To do this.”

Tokiya laughs. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Ah,” says Masato, “well.”

“Sorry,” says Tokiya, “I can go first. He just asked if he could give me a blowjob. Point blank, with some half-excuse about … oh, what was it.” He huffs. “Like, that you were shy so he had to go first.”

Masato gives an annoyed little grumble, even as he turns his face to nose into Tokiya’s hair. “That isn’t exactly untrue.”

“Oh my God.” Tokiya laughs, a little helpless. “I thought it was a joke! I don’t even know what made me agree. I just.”

“He gets these ideas. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” says Masato softly. “And he doesn’t let them go. We kept circling it, this… this idea about having you with us. But I thought you wouldn’t ever agree. And he bet that I was wrong.”

Tokiya swallows. “What were the terms? Was it really a bet?”

“If… if he crashed and burned, no. No, it wouldn’t have been. But. Since he won, he.” Masato pauses, shakes his head. He leans his cheek on Tokiya’s head. “He held you for me. So I wouldn’t back down, either.”

“But you wanted to, right? You did want to,” says Tokiya, pleading.

“I did. But I was afraid.” Masato holds him more tightly.

Tokiya nods. “Me too. I was.”

“You were better at hiding it,” says Masato, huffing. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Here’s my secret,” Tokiya murmurs. “I was copying Ren.”

Masato laughs. “No!”

“Yes. Beat for beat. Do you really think I had any clue what I was doing, Masa?” He lifts his head, sits up to look Masato in the eye. “Do you think I wasn’t _freaking out hard_ the whole time?”

“What are we doing?” asks Masato, holding Tokiya’s face in both hands. “Who _are_ we?”

“We’re crazy. That’s what it is, isn’t it,” Tokiya breathes, leaning into Masato’s touch. “Between the three of us we haven’t got two brain cells to rub together.”

Fervently, Masato nods, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “We’re idiots.”

“I love you,” says Tokiya. “We need to figure out how to talk with Ren in the room.”

“Tie his hands,” says Masato sagely. “Stuff his mouth.”

“That will _not_ lead to talking,” says Tokiya, shaking his head.

Masato frowns, then blinks. “Oh. Oh, maybe not.”

“I mean, I’m not discounting the idea,” Tokiya says in a rush, “under other circumstances.”

Masato lets go of Tokiya to cover his own face with his hands. “No, oh, no.”

“Don’t hide,” says Tokiya, pulling his hands away. “Masato, Masa, don’t hide, don’t back down. Could you imagine the look on his face, do you know how quickly he’ll _agree_ if it’s your idea?”

Masato is so pink, but when he looks at Tokiya there’s just a little hope in his eyes. “You think he would?”

Tokiya nods. “How can’t you see that he couldn’t ever tell you no? And … and I’ll be there, too, I won’t leave you alone.”

Masato’s eyes go distant and unfocused. Ah, he’s picturing it. Tokiya watches him think it over, watches him suck his lower lip between his teeth. It’s really not fair to blame their libidos on Ren, is it?

“If… if you’ll be there,” Masato breathes, softly.

“Of course. I mean, if you want, we can practice before he gets back?” Tokiya offers. Out of the goodness of his heart.

Masato stares at Tokiya, wide-eyed. “What do you mean by practice?”

Tokiya shrugs, looking down at his hand on Masato’s thigh. “If you wanted to tie my hands, I could tell you whether it hurt, or whether I could get out of it accidentally.” Oh, his heart is pounding, but he feels Masato’s breath catch. “And. We need to make sure to find something soft. So his wrists don’t bruise.”

“Yes,” Masato breathes. “I don’t want to hurt him. Or you. I don’t want anyone hurt.”

Tokiya nods. “We need to be careful. But I think we’ll be alright.”

Masato swallows. Softly, he says, “Have you thought about this before?”

“I’d be lying if I said no. I’m actually terrible,” Tokiya murmurs. “I’ve thought about a lot of things.”

With a sigh, Masato says, “Then, at least it’s not only me.”

Tokiya pauses, then laughs. He pushes Masato over, climbing over him to kiss him. “Darling. Dearest, loveliest Masato.”

“Mister _Darcy_!” Masato squeaks, as Tokiya shoves his hands up under Masato’s shirt.

Laughing, Tokiya says, “Not sorry,” and slips his hands under Masato’s back to hold him, skin on skin. He kisses Masato’s jaw, slotting their legs together. “Do you think I’m at all like Darcy?”

“Not even a little,” says Masato, arching. “You are your own.”

“Romantic,” Tokiya murmurs, mouthing down the side of his neck.

“It seems to be working for you,” Masato breathes, tipping his head back.

Tokiya huffs, nipping the base of Masato’s throat. “ _You_ work for me.”

Masato threads his fingers into Tokiya’s hair, pulling him back down. Tokiya goes happily, trailing lines of kisses over Masato’s neck and collarbones. He can feel Masato breathing, can trace the movements of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. Tokiya resolves to take his time, to linger until he’s kissed every inch of Masato’s throat.

Beneath him, Masato sighs and settles, closed eyes fluttering. He draws his fingers through Tokiya’s hair, kneads at his shoulder. He’s so warm, he goes so easy.

His phone chimes.

Tokiya sits up fast out of surprise. Masato huffs, grabbing his phone. And then he sighs. “It’s Ren.”

“Did he make it alright?” Tokiya asks. He drops his head down again. If it’s just a text he can resume his work. He traces his tongue over the point of Masato’s jaw.

“Yes,” Masato says, thumbing blindly at his screen. “Tokiya.”

“Multitask,” Tokiya murmurs, sucking gently at Masato’s skin.

“Ah,” says Masato.

Tokiya ignores him, focuses on getting as close to giving him a hickey as possible without actually marking him. Masato’s skin grows warmer under his tongue, his breath coming quicker. The taste of warm skin and just the tiniest warning hints of iron before a bruise.

Another chime, but different. This one sounds more like — a video call. And Masato answering, and Ren’s voice coming through the speaker saying, “Oh, hello there.”

Tokiya opens one eye to see Masato holding his phone up sideways. Ren is propped up in bed, lit in warm yellow, and in the top corner of the screen Tokiya can see a miniature version of himself and Masato. Masato’s face is bright and flushed and pretty.

“Do you see,” Masato says evenly, “why I was making typos? Don’t make fun.”

“I do see,” Ren says. “D’you miss me?”

“Mmn,” says Tokiya. Just the sound of Ren’s voice makes him bolder, and he closes his eye to focus better on Masato. If the camera catches it, it’s just a stream. Ren wouldn’t dare save this call.

Tokiya drags his tongue from the base of Masato’s throat to his jaw, nosing his head to the side to suck Masato’s earlobe between his teeth.

“Was - ah. Was your evening busy?” asks Masato. He sounds breathless, distracted. Tokiya sucks harder. It takes a lot more work to bruise an ear.

“No. But I’m just now coming back up after the flight,” Ren says. The odd turn of phrase makes Tokiya stop and look up at the phone.

“Oh, no. You slept through dinner?” Masato asks, frowning.

Ren smiles wryly. “I might have. But the room service here isn’t bad.”

Masato presses his lips together. “I hope it wasn’t an important dinner.”

“Just my brother. If he’s going to be stupid enough to put me on a plane, he gets to deal with the consequences,” says Ren. And then he grins a little, though there’s no humor in it. “Ah, Ichi. Maybe I should tell you. I… hate flying. So when I’m alone, I knock myself out. Dramamine and Benadryl, works a little too well.”

Tokiya frowns. “Ren.”

“Normally he tries to save face and his ego gets him through it,” says Masato dryly.

“Masa!”

“No, it’s true,” says Ren with a shrug. He doesn’t look offended in the least. “But I was one of like, two people in the entire cabin.”

Masato sighs. “So you just woke up, basically.”

“Had dinner first,” says Ren. “And then interrupted you two, apparently.”

“Well, we _do_ miss you,” says Tokiya charitably.

Ren smiles. “Yeah. Well. Don’t let me stop you.”

Tokiya looks down at Masato. Masato looks up at Tokiya. As one, they glance at Ren.

“You’re nasty,” says Masato, but it’s not pointed, and not a refusal.

Tokiya grins and kisses him once, hard, before leaving his mouth to resume nibbling his ear. This time, though, he slips his hands from under Masato, stroking over his sides and his stomach.

Ren says, “And how was _your_ day?”

“It was. It. Tokiya, oh,” Masato hisses, as Tokiya thumbs over his nipples.

“Multitask,” Tokiya whispers, nipping his way down Masato’s throat.

Weakly, Masato says, “Help.”

Ren laughs. It’s bright and beautiful and too far away. “I asked you a question, Masa.”

Tokiya eases up so Masato can see, “My day was busy, and my friends are evil.”

“D’you hear that, Ichi? We’re friends,” says Ren. “He admitted it.”

Tokiya smiles against Masato’s throat and pinches his nipples. Once, gentle, testing. Twice, a little harder. Three times, finding the sweet spot that makes Masato gasp.

“Um, ah,” says Masato.

“Don’t drop the phone,” says Ren. “Let me see.”

“I — didn’t agree to this,” says Masato, breathless.

Tokiya lifts his head, moves his hands to Masato’s sides. “Are you saying ‘stop’?”

Masato winces, his eyes sliding from Tokiya’s face down, toward the floor. “I. I can see my own face in the camera.”

“But baby, you’re so pretty,” says Ren, pulling the phone closer like he could hold Masa close. “I want to see you. I miss you.”

“What do you want to do?” Tokiya asks, squeezing Masato’s hips. “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Masato whispers, his hand trembling around the phone.

Tokiya chews his lip. “What about this,” he says, tapping the screen to switch cameras. The little camera view switches to the rest of the room.

Ren says, “Aww.”

Tokiya says, “You can point it at me. If you want to keep going.”

Masato flushes, glances at Ren pouting on the phone. “I think I do.”

Still, Tokiya gives him a moment of quiet to consider, even after he’s answered. He waits for Masato to turn the phone, point the camera at Tokiya, carefully keeping his own face out of the frame.

“Everybody okay?” Ren asks. He sounds tinny, with the speakers pointed away.

When Masato nods, even though Ren can’t see him, Tokiya smiles. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah,” says Ren.

Tokiya knows cameras. He can do this. He looks up at that little, dark lens and says, “Good.”

He can’t go back to Masa’s neck or his ear without risking Masato’s face. Instead, he slides down Masato’s body, gathering the hem of Masa’s shirt in his hands. He follows the path of the hem with unhurried kisses. He’s firm so Masato won’t twitch, pressing his mouth to every inch of skin he bares with the same care he gave Masato’s neck. His skin is soft, but it’s stretched over lean muscle that goes taut with anticipation.

Tokiya scrapes his teeth just above Masato’s navel, nuzzles into the dimples his abs make when he tenses. Oh, Masa’s beautiful, his chest rising unsteadily with each new breath, the phone already trembling in his grip.

There’s something terrifying about being filmed like this. But it’s not recording, right? It’s not going to be intercepted or broadcast or caught. It’s Ren, far away, lonely without them.

Tokiya catches his breath, looks past the phone to Masato’s face. He keeps eye contact with him, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his chest. He raises his eyebrows.

Masato licks his lips, his eyes darting to the phone. Whatever he sees there, he’s not sharing, but he slips his other hand into Tokiya’s hair. He cups the back of Tokiya’s head, ever-so-gently tugging. It’s the barest hint of a suggestion, when Masato pulls him toward his left, when Masato arches his back. Tokiya hums, brushing his lips over Masa’s nipple in slow, reverent passes. Every single time, Masato’s belly jumps just little.

Tokiya tries to be slow, to be good. He flicks his tongue over Masa’s nipple, turning his head so Ren can see better. He glances at the phone, stares into the lens of the camera, hears the echo of Ren saying, “Oh.”

Bolder, he scrapes his teeth over Masato’s nipple, then soothes it, rocking with Masato when he bucks. Masa’s hand kneads in his hair, nearly drawing a moan out of his throat. He devotes himself to the skin in his mouth, tracing every detail with his tongue, feeling it go hard and pebbled when he breathes. He has time now, and permission to draw every reaction he can out of Masato with lips and teeth and tongue, until Masato’s skin is red and abused and Masato holds his breath every time Tokiya sucks.

It’s almost meditative, a conversation of action and reaction. The harder he bites, the longer Masato stills before the next touch. If he inhales while he flutters his tongue, Masato hisses. Masa’s hand moves in the smallest guiding motions, pushing Tokiya down, holding him. He presses his chest against Tokiya’s mouth, writhing beneath him.

Tokiya’s cheeks ache. He’s salivating, his jaw working, breathing hard through his nose. Masa’s no better, barely able to keep the camera pointed at Tokiya. But he’s trying, his grip twitching white-knuckled every so often.

God, he’s so pretty. Tokiya can taste Masato’s pulse through his skin.

And then he switches sides, ducking Masato’s arm to lavish the same attention on his other nipple. Dimly, distantly Tokiya hears Ren laughing. Masato squirms, pulls at Tokiya’s hair, but Tokiya fights him to stay where he is, to swirl soft figure-eights over Masa’s nipple. And Masato is _still_ responding, little jerks and sighs, his cock hard to bursting in his pants. Tokiya can feel it, pressed against his belly through underpants and slacks and sweater, feels it when Masato tries to rub against him for relief. So he pushes himself up onto his knees, pins Masato’s hips with both hands and doesn’t let up.

Masato’s grip goes painfully tight. Tears spring to Tokiya’s eyes, but all he does is look up at the camera and flick his tongue, ever so gently. Masato jerks, drops the phone, and as it clatters to the floor Tokiya finally sees just how overwhelmed and desperate he is. His cheeks are fever-bright, his lips a deep bruise red from the way he’s biting at them. He tries to reach for the phone, but Tokiya bites again, grinding the heel of his hand over the tent in Masato’s pants and that’s _all it takes_. He comes with a shaky gasp, pressing his chest harder against Tokiya’s mouth. Tokiya can feel his hair ripping, tastes iron, digs his fingers into Masato’s hip until they ache.

This time, when Masato pulls, Tokiya goes, sucking at Masato’s bruised lips. He didn’t know it could be like this, a different kind of intensity that builds slowly, stone by stone.

Masa’s breath slows to a better pace before he can get his hand to unclench from Tokiya’s hair. Tokiya’s scalp aches but he can’t stop smiling, pressing kisses to Masa’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.

Masato lunges for the phone, squinting at the screen. Tokiya winces when he catches sight of nothing but white plaster and indistinct shadow.

Softly, Masato says, “Ren?”

Ren’s voice, low, breathy, “Oh, hi. Didn’t think you’d still be there.”

“Sorry. I. I dropped it,” Masato whispers.

Tokiya paws at the screen until he gets the phone to switch to the front-facing camera again. He tucks his nose against Masato’s jaw and tries not to grind down on him. He’s the buzzing kind of aroused that he can sustain for a while. “Ren, let us see you.”

Ren makes a soft, choked sound. “I don’t.” His throat clicks. “H-have any free hands.”

Tokiya feels it like a touch, heat flooding his brain. “Fuck,” he hisses, tipping right into need. “Ren.”

Masato gets it, chews his lip. “Do you need help, Tokiya?”

“No,” says Tokiya, fearing the loss, “just. I’m not gonna last.”

Masato holds the phone steady, pets through Tokiya’s hair, soothing at the spots he pulled. “I can wait.”

With shaking fingers, Tokiya undoes the button on his pants. The relief is instant. He moans into Masato’s neck when he gets a hand around his cock.

“Ren— Ren, how many? How many fingers,” Tokiya chokes out.

Ren huffs a laugh, so much more intimate when Masato rests the phone on his chest by Tokiya’s head. “Two.”

Tokiya shivers, panting as he tries to picture it. Ren watching him until he couldn’t stand it, then giving in to need, spread on scratchy hotel sheets and desperately fingering himself to the sound of Masa falling apart. His calves flexing, his thighs shaking, back arched and he’s _merciless_ with himself. One finger, then a second, a little too fast, a little too soon.

Tokiya’s hand moves hard over his cock, no finesse. He jumps when Masato’s hand joins his, then hiccups on a cry at the press of Masato’s thumb against his slit. Masato grips his hair harder, teases at the head of his cock. And Tokiya is strung out between his hands, a live wire.

Ren makes a soft sound. “Baby, you there?”

“You hold the phone,” says Masato, tugging Tokiya’s hair. “Show him.”

Tokiya fumbles for it, chewing his tongue for the focus to keep from accidentally disconnecting. When he lifts the phone he sees Ren, flushed and contented, smiling lopsidedly. And his own desperate face in the corner, God, is that how he looks? So wild, his mouth loose and red, his eyes half-focused?

Ren says, “Oh, there you are. You’re doing so well.”

Masato pulls Tokiya’s hair so his head tips back, and with a weak moan Tokiya goes, his hips jerking. Masato bites just over his Adam’s apple, searing hot, so Tokiya’s life is in Masato’s mouth and Ren says something that gets lost in the rush of blood in Tokiya’s ears. He comes into Masato’s fist, stars blurring with tears in the corners of his eyes.

When he comes down, Masato is just nuzzling into his hair, petting softly over the back of his neck. Somehow, Tokiya retained his grip on the phone, and Masato and Ren are having a quiet conversation.

“I think I can,” says Ren softly.

Masato hums, murmuring, “Then I’ll hang up. To spare your screen.”

Ren chuckles. “You’re always looking out for me, dear.”

“Mmn,” says Tokiya, “are you. Gonna go to bed?”

“Yeah, baby,” says Ren gently. “Thanks for helpin’ me unwind.”

Tokiya smiles a little. “Love you,” he mumbles, gratified when Ren’s expression softens.

“Love you too. Both of you.”

“Yes, yes,” says Masato. “We all love one another. Now go to sleep. No. _Shower_ and then go to sleep.”

Ren laughs. “Yessir. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Tokiya murmurs, as Masato presses the _End Call_ button. As the call screen fades, Tokiya catches sight of the duration. They’d been in that video call for over an hour and a half.

Tokiya shivers. How long had he spent just teasing Masato? How long had Ren held out?

“I am going to have to get into the shower _fully dressed_ ,” says Masato, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Tokiya looks down, catching the smear of come on Masato’s bare stomach and — oh, the wet spot in the front of his slacks. “Sorry.”

Masato is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. I… I hadn’t. That was.”

Tokiya grins. “Oh my God.”

“Did you… I. Did you really enjoy that?” asks Masato.

“Touching you?” asks Tokiya, lifting his head. “Or the camera? Or being bitten? Having my hair pulled?”

Masato flushes, looking away. “I don’t know.”

“Yes,” says Tokiya, pushing himself up onto his knees. He’s cold without Masato under him, but that helps him wake up. “To all of it. Yes.”

Masato sighs. “Okay.”

Tokiya smiles a little, gets to his feet. Masato sits up and grimaces, glaring down at his crotch. Tokiya does his best not to laugh, because honestly that must feel so gross.

“I don’t want to leave you with the clean-up. Can I help?” he asks.

Masato takes Tokiya’s offered hand and stands up, even though it makes his shirt fall and stick to his belly. “No, no. You stayed last night and this is a lot later than I’d expected you to stay again.”

Tokiya sighs. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not going to argue any more,” says Masato, waving a hand and duck-stepping toward the bathroom. “It’s okay.”

Tokiya follows him, ends up leaning in the doorway as Masato does his best to unstick his slacks from his underwear. Tokiya winces. “So, uh. Next time, naked is best.”

“Yes,” says Masato, pulling a face.

Tokiya smiles a little. “You just agreed to a next time. You’d let me do that again?”

Masato flushes. “You already know the answer. Get out.”

With a laugh, Tokiya darts in and kisses Masato firmly, catching the back of his neck to hold him. “Love you.”

Masato kisses him one more time, then gently headbutts him. “Love you. Go.”

“Hold on,” says Tokiya. He takes a moment to check himself in the mirror. Even that last, vicious bite Masato gave him didn’t leave a mark, though he can still feel the sharp points of Masato’s teeth when he swallows. He’s rumpled, but once he straightens his clothes and his hair, he’s decently presentable.

Masato turns the water on. Tokiya takes a deep breath.

“Alright. I’m. I’m good.” He turns from the mirror, smiles wryly at Masato. “I’ll. See you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Masato sighs, leans in to kiss him one more time. “Go, before I keep you.”

Tokiya nods. He goes.


	8. Sleep Is For The Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tokiya texts with Ren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who like conversations with other members of the band, HERE YOU GO.  
> Nothing raunchy in this chapter, just a couple of necessary conversations.

Tokiya has the distinct sense they’re doing things backwards. Most of the time, he doesn’t care. He’d rather be under Ren’s hands and Masato’s mouth than stand on ceremony. But, on rare occasions, he’s left unbalanced.

Like now, sitting in the back of a car, writing and rewriting a text message over and over, one he can’t make himself send. Syo is leaned up against him, dead asleep, his hat tucked forward over his eyes. On Syo’s other side, Natsuki is dozing, his glasses off. The angles of his face no longer go dangerously sharp without them, but Syo still insists on holding Natsuki’s glasses for him. And, likely, it’s why Tokiya’s a pillow.

By all rights, Tokiya should be sleeping too. After their event, a full Saturday of dancing, singing, meeting fans, Tokiya is exhausted. But oh, the conservatory had been beautiful. Syo and Natsuki, playing their violas, switching seamlessly to violin, to cello, to bass, filling the room with a swell of strings that felt bigger than just two men. How could they know how to handle each instrument, where did they find their expertise, their skill?

Tokiya can’t fathom it. He’d been brought to sing, to push the highest notes in his range with them. And, well, because he was the only one of the available members of STARISH that knows how to waltz. (Hilariously, Cecil is not only ignorant of it but devolves into his worship dance if his hands aren’t pinned. Ren and Masato both know, but Ren is not due back for another day, and Masato has his own engagements. And Otoya…tries. How a body can be so athletic and at the same time so clumsy, Tokiya can’t guess.) It was nice, in the way of stretching unused muscles, to don a suit and dance in stately circles. It was also nice, in the way of a challenge, to be completely outclassed by some of his dance partners.

The whole thing had been filmed, of course, for use in promotional materials for a drama. But the fan-meet at the end, that had been all Shining. Keep them close to their fans, in the way a stadium show couldn’t, in the way a highly-sanitized social media presence couldn’t.

And now. Now, he’s surrounded only by his bandmates. He can breathe again. The text he _could_ send was to Masato, a simple _We’re on the way back._

That had been when they’d first gotten into the car. Half an hour later with no response, Tokiya’s reasonably sure Masato is asleep. As well he should be. And so should Tokiya be.

But he can’t figure out how to say it, the text he wants to send to Ren.

He doesn’t know if Masato has been in touch with him. Masato has his own work, and it’s late. So maybe it’s best to begin as he had with Masato.

_Heading back to dorm, finally._

The response comes within seconds.

_whoa. tired?_

Tokiya smiles a little at his phone. _Yes. How was your day?_

The car takes a sharp turn. Syo leans heavily into Tokiya. Natsuki slides down in his seat and flops toward Syo, pressing his face into Syo’s shoulder.

Suddenly under quite a bit of extra weight, Tokiya huffs and tries to readjust, turning his shoulders so he’s curled in the corner. Syo’s hat falls into his lap, and Syo immediately begins to stir and grumble. Hurriedly, Tokiya puts the hat over Syo’s eyes. He settles.

Tokiya glances at his phone, even as Natsuki shifts to wrap his arms around Syo’s waist.

_day one of pictures is done. the leaves here are beautiful already_

And then, a moment later: _I got to pretend to walk a dog_

_Do you like dogs?_ Tokiya sends, because he realizes he doesn’t know. And then he turns the phone face-down, resting it on his thigh. The car stops smoothly at a light, but when it accelerates again, Natsuki makes a soft sound of protest. He tightens his grip on Syo, which makes Syo groan and kick in Natsuki’s general direction.

Natsuki sits up, disoriented, rubbing his eyes.

Tokiya can’t help himself; he still tenses when Natsuki’s gaze lands upon him. Eyes that electric green without any glass in front of them spell property damage and bodily injury. But even though his eyes are sharp as blades, the lashes around them are soft and long, and Natsuki has only ever gazed on Tokiya with affection.

Carefully, Tokiya guides Syo’s fingers apart and hands Natsuki his glasses. With a grateful murmur, Natsuki takes them and slides them on. It dulls him somehow, makes him seem so much gentler.

Tokiya’s phone buzzes. He lifts it to see a picture of Ren, dressed in a brown coat and gray scarf, his hair laid prettily over his face and around his shoulders. He’s taking a selfie with a dog. It’s a well-groomed golden retriever, almost the same color of orange as Ren’s hair, silky and bright-eyed. The dog looks calm and comfortable, but rather more interested in sniffing Ren’s ear than looking at the camera.

_meet my co-star. his name is maple_

The dog is cute. Tokiya knows this, intellectually. But he’s caught by the contrast of all that orange against the blue of Ren’s eyes.

Another text from Ren comes: _I like maple_

It’s an answer and not an answer at once. How very Ren. Tokiya can’t help but smile at his phone.

He sends: _He looks like a good dog. Do you get him tomorrow?_

When he looks up, Tokiya catches Natsuki’s eye. It’s not as though Natsuki’s staring at him, only drawn to the movement and light from his phone. Tokiya doesn’t blame him. Natsuki’s gaze is sleepy, almost warm. It’s like the rest of him is so gentle and golden that it eases the electricity of his eyes.

Tokiya chews his lip, then brings up that picture - Ren and Maple - and passes the phone to Natsuki. Natsuki _loves_ dogs.

True to form, Natsuki melts. He coos at the screen, a smile blooming over his face. In the glow, he still looks tired, but he’s lit up.

“Who’s this?” Natsuki whispers, leaning over Syo to return the phone.

“Maple,” says Tokiya. He smiles when Natsuki decides to just snuggle down over Syo, despite the fact that it’s heavier on him.

Natsuki sighs dreamily. “Maple. What a sweet name.”

A text from Ren comes: _nooooo D:_

Tokiya can’t help chuckling as he says, “Yes. He seems to like Ren.”

“Dogs are full of love,” Natsuki murmurs. He puts his chin on Syo’s shoulder. Syo bats blindly at him in return, ends up pressing his hand over Natsuki’s nose.

“Syo-chff,” Natsuki says, sitting up.

Syo fumbles his hat off his face, squinting at Natsuki in the dim. “Na’ski, wh?”

“Hwugh,” says Tokiya, when Syo pushes himself up to sit with an elbow in Tokiya’s stomach.

“Whoa, whoa, sorry,” Syo squeaks. He turns around, gaping at Tokiya like he’d forgotten he was there.

Tokiya smiles wryly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Natsuki takes Syo’s arm, pulls him upright with ease. “There you go,” he soothes, placing Syo’s hat gently back upon his head. “You’ve put wrinkles in your waistcoat.”

“I’m not gonna see anybody special before it gets ironed,” Syo mumbles around a yawn. “Are we back yet?”

“Not yet,” says Natsuki. “Soon.”

Tokiya straightens in his seat, looking out the window. He recognizes a few buildings that signify they’re not far from the Agency grounds. “Soon,” he agrees quietly.

Syo rubs his face with both hands. “Mmn. Sorry I slept.”

“No,” says Tokiya absently. “That’s okay too. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. How haven’t you lost your voice?” Syo asks, wrinkling his nose.

Tokiya smiles. “I can’t talk much louder than this, for now,” he murmurs.

Natsuki makes a soft, sympathetic noise, even as he drapes his arm around Syo, “Then we won’t force you to talk any more. Preserve your voice.”

Tokiya opens his mouth, but Syo gives him a theatrical shooshing, likely more to amuse Natsuki than to actually keep Tokiya quiet. So Tokiya draws an invisible zipper over his lips and returns his attention to his phone.

_How sad. Are you flying back tomorrow?_

The idea makes something twinge in Tokiya’s stomach. Ren hates flying, enough to to drug himself into a stupor to avoid it. There are a lot of things Ren hates, apparently, things he won’t say.

The response comes quickly: _it’s a fifteen hour drive otherwise sweetheart_

_Going to knock yourself out again?_ Tokiya sends.

The car stops outside the Agency gates. The driver rolls down the window, chats with the guard, gets his ID scanned. Natsuki says hello to the guard by name, because Natsuki makes it a point to know those kinds of things.

Ren replies, _yep_

The car pulls up to the dorms. Natsuki opens the door on his side, which is closer to the sidewalk. Though it’s less dignified, Tokiya chooses to slide across the seat and get out on that side as well. The night has a biting chill to it. Syo attempts to stretch his arms over his head, then visibly thinks better of it, hunching down into his coat.

Tokiya sends, _I wish it wasn’t that bad. Do you get airsick?_

With company, Tokiya’s decision is made. He walks with Syo and Natsuki to the building, bids them goodnight at the top of the stairs. Tokiya goes right back to his room to find Otoya asleep, curled over his desk. He puffs out his cheeks, lets his breath out slow.

“Otoya,” he says, touching Otoya’s back.

When Otoya remains resolutely asleep, Tokiya pats him a few times, says, “Come on. Otoya.”

“Hrmf,” says Otoya, lifting his head. “Oh… Tokiya?”

Tokiya presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “There’s … ink.”

Otoya reaches up, rubbing his cheek. The lyrics he’d been writing are on his face now, in reverse. His fingers come back smudged. “Oh… oh.”

“You need to stop falling asleep like this,” says Tokiya. “It’s bad for your back. And your skin.”

Otoya smiles wryly at him. “You don’t get to lecture me when you sleep less than I do.”

“The sleep I get is horizontal,” says Tokiya archly. “And I don’t get ink on my face.”

The only response Tokiya gets is an incoherent mumble while Otoya gets to his feet. Tokiya lets him have the bathroom, only sighs to himself as he strips out of his clothes. He leaves his phone on his bed while he changes, and by the time he picks it up again he has another message from Ren.

_no_

Tokiya thinks of Masato, saying that Ren’s proud. He thinks of every flight he’s been on with Ren. Was there a sign, was there a hint? He thought Ren slept the entire time, put his headphones on and bowed his head and closed his eyes and _slept_ through every flight. Maybe he covered for his grogginess? Maybe all their flights were long enough that Tokiya himself was also groggy after them.

Then again. Then again, Ren could have taken the out Tokiya gave him.

So Tokiya sends: _Are you afraid of flying?_

Ren replies within seconds. _yes_

Tokiya chews his lip. Funny, how just a word makes him feel warm and cold at once.

_Can I help?_

Ren’s response comes in a series.

_no_  
_it’s irrational_  
_I’ve looked up everything I can about it_  
_probability_  
_statistics_  
_it’s safer than driving_  
_riding a train  
_ _even boats_

Tokiya frowns at the small avalanche of texts. He chews his lip before he writes, _Irrational doesn’t mean invalid._

Otoya pokes his freshly-washed face out of the bathroom and says, “Your turn.” He leaves the light on, crosses the room, does a faceplant into his bed.

“Get under the covers, you five-year-old,” says Tokiya.

Otoya squirms, wriggling down under the bedsheets. “I’ll ha—“ his jaw cracks on a huge yawn “—have you know I am six.”

“And a half,” says Tokiya, indulgent. He tucks his phone under his arm and takes his turn in the bathroom.

His phone buzzes while he’s washing his face.

_thanks_

Tokiya sighs a little. He types, _While we’re talking about things you probably don’t want to_

He erases it. Types, _Wish you didn’t have to_

No, not that either. He erases it. Types, then sends, _Has Masa texted you today?_

Tokiya brushes his teeth, flosses with perhaps a little too much zeal, rinses his mouth out.

Ren sends, _no why?_

At this point, Tokiya could back down. He opens the door to the bathroom, sees Otoya curled up in his blankets, asleep. He chews his cheek.

He climbs into his bed, facing Otoya’s side of the room, so the light from his phone won’t shine toward him.

_He told me something yesterday and then felt guilty about it. I don’t know if I should bring it up but it’s bothering me. It’s about the fight you two had when we debuted._

No. Fuck. He… he deletes that.

_Me neither._

No, that makes it sound like something’s wrong.

He sighs, sends, _He told me you fought when we debuted. Don’t be angry with him._

Ren’s response comes quickly. _was he specific_

_I know why you fought but not what you said._

After Tokiya sends that last line, he refrains from sending anything else. He wants to, badly wants to. More than anything, he’d rather call. But Otoya is sleeping across from him, and he doesn’t want to hear Ren’s voice if it’s hurt. Still. Waiting for a response, any response, is slow torture.

_what do you think of all of it_

Tokiya presses his lips together.

_I feel like an idiot for not noticing._

_that means i was doing it right_

_don’t beat yourself up_  
_i’m ok now  
_ _promise_

Tokiya winces.

_That’s not what I wanted to say._

_what do you want me to say_

_No. I wanted to tell you that I know._  
_And that I know you’re okay._  
_And that if that ever changes_  
_If you aren’t okay_  
_Or if you’re just having a hard time_  
_I’m here and I don’t want to fight.  
_ _I am fully aware that I am messing this up._

Tokiya wants to smack himself in the face with his phone.

_no you arent  
_ _i dont think theres a way you could actually do that_

_And yet you have used progressively less punctuation since I started._

_im tired not mad_  
_i mean its embarrassing_  
_stereotypical  
_ _ha ha a model that doesnt eat_

Tokiya gives up and calls, digging himself in under the blankets. The instant the call connects he says, “That’s not funny.”

“It has to be. It was a long time ago,” says Ren. His voice is low and rough and tired, so tired.

Tokiya feels twin stabs of selfishness and hurt. “Right. And you’re okay now.”

“Yes, baby. I am. I swear,” Ren says. Before Tokiya can respond, he continues, “I’ve been doing okay for a while now. And I… I don’t know how it was to hear it from Masato, so long after the fact.”

Tokiya huffs. “You talk like it’s over.”

“It is,” says Ren, a bit of an edge in his voice. “It’s in the past. And if you want to get into details, I can do that. When I get back, I’ll show you all the spreadsheets and plans that prove I’m eating what I should, that I’m working out when and how I should. And I don’t think you have _any_ complaints about _how I look_.”

This isn’t going well. Ren’s voice is tight and sharp and terrible. Tokiya pauses. He swallows. He lets out a breath.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says quietly. “And you’re right. You’re okay. It’s new to me but not to you, that’s on me. I’m sorry.”

Ren is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, he’s softer. “I don’t want to fight either. I… I’m basically getting mad because you care about me, I think that’s what I’m doing. Ugh.”

“I love you,” says Tokiya. Otoya’s asleep. He can risk it.

“Oh, baby. I love you too. This’s been hard on you, hasn’t it.” Ren’s voice immediately colors with concern, and Tokiya hates how childish it makes him feel. That Ren could be considering his feelings, now.

Tokiya takes a deep breath. “Just tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Beloved, I’m okay. I’m coming back to you soon,” Ren soothes.

“And stop talking badly about yourself,” Tokiya adds, feeling churlish.

He hears the sound of shifting fabric. Ren says, “I’ll… try.”

Tokiya almost says his name. Otoya’s asleep. But still, he can’t risk it. He grumbles, “ _Babe._ Don’t try. If you have to, pretend you’re saying those things about me.”

“Eeyugh,” says Ren, eloquently.

Tokiya can’t help it. He laughs, quiet and low. “I love you. Are you angry at me? Or… anyone?”

“No,” Ren sighs. “No, I’m not mad. I’m just tired, now.”

Tokiya curls up a little better under the covers. “Sorry for keeping you awake.”

“I like hearing your voice, no matter what it is you’re saying,” Ren murmurs.

Tokiya’s chest is warm. “Smooth.”

“Only for you, gorgeous. Think you can sleep now?”

“Can you?” asks Tokiya.

Ren laughs softly. “No. Sing me a lullaby.”

“You can,” says Tokiya dryly. “Then. Then I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight,” says Tokiya. And then, quieter, “Love.”

He hears Ren’s soft, answering hum before Ren hangs up. Tokiya sighs. He surfaces from the cocoon of the blankets and takes a breath of cool, fresh air. He plugs in his phone, sets his alarm.

Looks across the room and makes eye contact with Otoya.

Tokiya swallows, his heart stopping in his chest.

Otoya blinks once, twice. “Tokiya,” he whispers.

“Please tell me you’re asleep,” Tokiya mumbles, horrified.

“Um,” says Otoya. “No.”

Tokiya buries his face in his comforter. He’s done it now, he’s ruined everything. He has no idea what Otoya heard, and as he runs over the conversation in his head he’s not sure whether it’s even salvageable. Every part of him feels cold and heavy and sick.

“Was that… your mom?” asks Otoya quietly. There’s sympathy in the draw of his eyebrows.

Otoya is an orphan. He has no idea how people talk to their mothers. Neither does he know that Tokiya isn’t close to his own mother at all. But he does know mothers are supposed to offer comfort, even in the middle of the night. It’s a reasonable conclusion for him to make. But that doesn’t mean Tokiya doesn’t have to call on _all_ of his control not to laugh with relief.

No, Tokiya acts. Tokiya is an actor, he can handle this. He lifts his head, just a little shyness in his expression, like he’s ashamed of being homesick. “I’m really sorry for waking you up,” he says, quiet.

Otoya sighs, wrapping his arms around his pillow. “It’s okay. I didn’t know you were lonely.”

“It’s been… a long day,” says Tokiya, mimicking the pose on his own bed. “A long week, really.”

“You haven’t been sleeping much,” Otoya whispers. “Are you okay, Tokiya?”

Part of Tokiya feels pretty guilty about making Otoya worry like this. It’s that part that compels him to say, “Yeah.” But his instincts remind him to make it quiet, a little unsure. After, he smiles. “I’m okay.”

Otoya looks unconvinced, but also too good-natured to push. He nuzzles into his pillow a little better and says, “Kay. I’m here for you, though.”

“I know. Same goes for you,” says Tokiya. He returns Otoya’s smile. He’s only partly acting.

“Yeah. Goodnight, Tokiya,” says Otoya.

Tokiya watches him close his eyes. Softly, he says, “Goodnight.”

It’s a long moment before Tokiya’s heart calms down enough to let him sleep. But exhaustion pulls at the edges of him, drags him down, and between one blink and the next it’s morning and Otoya is groping blindly for his alarm. It’s not enough sleep, never enough, but Tokiya sits up anyway.

His vision is blurry as he watches Otoya get to his feet and stagger toward his running shoes.

“Take a day off,” Tokiya rasps.

Otoya attempts to put his shoes on. He puts the left shoe on the right foot. He is also still in his pajamas. “I’m good,” he says.

Tokiya says, “You’re not. Get back in bed.”

“Gotta,” Otoya mumbles. “Gotta…”

“ _Bed_ ,” says Tokiya. “There is. No reason to be awake at—” he glances at his phone “—at a quarter to six on a Sunday,” he finishes, appalled.

Otoya waffles for a moment, fumbling with the laces on his shoe. Tokiya wills him to have sense, and eventually he capitulates, crawling back into bed and shoving his face into the pillow with a low groan.

Tokiya lays back, closing his eyes. He’s relieved he won’t have to worry about Otoya running into a wall for another day. Another long blink and he’s asleep again.


	9. Tokiya Has Been Waiting For This Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren's back Ren's back Ren's bACK REN'S BACK REN'S BACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help me they won't stop  
> also heads up butt stuff
> 
> YEAAAAAH i am so sick right now and so tired but here we go  
> (i wish Maple were a real dog and also my dog)

When he surfaces again, it’s midmorning. It doesn’t feel to Tokiya like he’s gotten much more substantial sleep, but Otoya is well recovered and on his feet.

“Tokiya, I’m going out. You should get up before you miss breakfast.”

“It’s not that late,” Tokiya mumbles into his pillow.

Otoya leans over him, blocking the sun with his body. “I went running, _and_ came back, _and_ showered. It’s late.”

Two chill drops of water land on Tokiya’s neck. He flinches down under the covers. “Wet!” he complains.

“Haha, whoops,” says Otoya, pulling his towel over his head. “Sorry.”

Tokiya sits up, wincing in the light. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Otoya shrugs. “You wanna shower?”

“Yeah, think I need it,” says Tokiya. He knows he has old tears crusted at the corners of his eyes, and the inside of his mouth tastes like an old sock. “Don’t agree with me.”

Laughing, Otoya hangs his towel over his chair and says, “I’ll save you some coffee.”

Tokiya lets him go. After their little late-night chat about his “mom”, Tokiya is loath to spend much time under Otoya’s sympathy. He’s awful when he feels bad for someone, all gentleness and tenterhooks and helpful gestures. Like saving him some coffee. Because Otoya is perfect.

Tokiya shoves himself into a bracing, cold shower. The shock helps him wake up, leaves his skin feeling tight with goosebumps. Ren’s getting back tonight.

Ren is going to be exhausted, drugged, and he’ll probably collapse into bed without a second glance at Tokiya. Selfishly, Tokiya’s frustrated he might not even get a hello kiss out of Ren. It’s easier to focus on that than worry about Ren taking a plane.

Sometimes, Tokiya isn’t sure he likes himself very much. Or, at least, he acknowledges the flaws in his own coping mechanisms with extreme prejudice.

By the time he’s showered, shaved, dressed, styled, and finally emerges into the lobby, Otoya’s done with breakfast. He’s walking with Cecil, laughing in the sunshine. He has a mug of coffee, though, and he offers it to Tokiya when they meet.

“Here. Little cream, no sugar, some of that vanilla stuff,” Otoya says, holding the mug with his fingertips, handle out. “Served with a smile.”

Tokiya takes the handle. “Are you sassing me?”

Otoya beams at him. “Who can say? I got your order right, didn’t I?”

“You have an order?” asks Cecil. “You just get the same thing every time?”

“He’s consistent,” Otoya says, “when he’s sleepy.”

Tokiya just hums, putting the lip of the cup to his mouth. The coffee smells lovely, just a little cream, some of the vanilla stuff. It’s like his sleepiness melts off with just the scent of it, dissolves entirely at the first sip.

Otoya smiles at him with altogether too much fondness. Tokiya used to think his red eyes were unsettling, the way they glittered like fresh blood in the sun, taking the rest of the life out of Otoya’s face. But Otoya, perfect Otoya has long, black eyelashes and not an ounce of vitriol in him. He is a wild, bright thing, and Tokiya’s stomach drops because sometimes _Ren and Masato look at him like that_.

No. No, ha, no. That’s conceited.

Tokiya drags his voice out of his thoughts and says, “Thank you.”

“Oh, wow. Is that what having a roommate is _supposed_ to be like?” asks Cecil, his brows drawn up.

As one, Tokiya and Otoya turn to him. Otoya says, “Oh. Cecil, oh. I mean, yes! You do things for one another, and you watch out for each other.”

Tokiya nods, sighing a little. “You’ve been living alone since Camus moved out, right? Maybe it’s time for a change.”

Otoya jumps, giving Tokiya something like a betrayed look. “You don’t want to live with me anymore?”

“That’s not what I mean,” says Tokiya, holding up his free hand. “I mean, it’s not fair to Cecil to be on his own.” He can hardly believe the words out of his mouth, but both Otoya and Cecil nod like he’s telling the truth. He’d give a month of off-days to have his own room after living in dorms for so long, but that’s only after finally having a concrete reason to need privacy.

Cecil’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t want to break anyone up.”

Otoya smiles at him. “Maybe we can find a triple?” he asks, casting a hopeful glance over at Tokiya.

Tokiya thinks, _no no no no no no no_. His mouth says, “Maybe,” around a smile.

“You guys are so nice!” says Cecil, beaming. “Where do we look?”

“Ah, you know, I don’t know?” says Otoya, laughing brightly. “We can start with the building manager and go from there.”

Cecil gets a couple of praising spins in before Otoya catches him. “Okay, okay. Tokiya, are you coming?”

Tokiya lifts his mug. “I was going to see if I could get something to eat. But let me know how it goes.”

“Okay!” says Cecil, already grabbing Otoya’s hands. “We will! Come on!”

The two of them tear off down the hall like a couple of kids. Tokiya watches their backs recede. He’s awake, now, too awake for his liking.

At least the coffee is good.

Tokiya drains the cup before he’s made it outside, takes the long way back to the cafeteria. He considers his options, as a man might on his way to an execution. Option one: this does not change anything. On the positive side, he only has to continue hiding from Otoya. On the negative, Cecil is lonely. Option two: they get a triple, and Cecil moves in. Positive: Cecil is no longer lonely. Negative: hiding from Otoya _and_ Cecil. Though, Cecil doesn’t know his idiosyncrasies the same way and may be guided into thinking Tokiya just doesn’t believe in sleep. Stranger things have happened.

Option three: something else entirely. Tokiya isn’t sure what, maybe a meteor falling or a sudden relocation of Agency grounds.

He gets a light breakfast and some more coffee, planning to eat on his own. Instead, the moment he sits, he’s joined by Nanami. She’s over being sheepish, but she still asks if she can share his table. He immediately agrees, finding a smile for her.

The sun on her hair is a thousand galaxies of light. She looks at him like he’s someone else. This, at least, is familiar.

She asks if he slept well. He asks if he looks tired to her. She agrees that he does, shyly admits her concern. He reassures her, changes the subject to the song they were workshopping the previous Friday. Over her cup of tea, she tells him she worked on it on her own, unable to let it go. Would he like to hear the new version? Would he have time to work with her today?

He smiles. He would.

 

* * *

 

_i’ve landed. ETA 45 min._

It’s a group text, from Ren to Tokiya and Masato. Tokiya thinks _how businesslike_ and then wonders how Ren could be coherent. He turns from the edge of the lake, walking back toward the dorms. He keeps his phone out ahead of him like a flashlight.

Masato sends, _How are you?_

Ren was already typing before Masato’s response. He sends, _we gave maple and his trainer a lift and he rode with me the whole way._

Accompanying the text is a picture of Ren in first-class, reclining, with Maple sprawled on top of him like a security blanket. Ren looks a little green, but alert. Maple has his head resting on Ren’s chest, his nose just an inch from Ren’s chin, looking soulfully up at his face.

Tokiya pauses to look at that picture. The dog is so bright on top of the navy blanket over Ren, and so devoted. Maple’s whole body is relaxed and attentive. Tokiya sends, _Did he help?_

_yeah. in car now. had to say goodbye._

Masato sends, _Do you need a dog now?_

Ren replies, _not any dog. maple dog._

_That might be tough to get,_ sends Tokiya. He shoulders his way through the door to the dorms, pausing to scuff his shoes over the mat.

Ren sends, _only the best for me. speaking of are you free tonight?_

Tokiya smiles a little at his phone. _Yes._

He climbs the stairs and knocks on the door to Masato and Ren’s dorm. Masato opens the door, phone in hand. “Oh.”

“Hi,” says Tokiya. “May I come in?”

Masato steps back, holding the door. “Yes.”

Tokiya enters, waits for Masato to shut the door before he hangs his coat and steps out of his shoes. Their phones both buzz.

_cool B)_

Masato snorts. Tokiya huffs a laugh. “Old-school.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all weekend,” Masato says, setting his phone on the coffee table. The bouquet of roses is smaller still, but vibrant. There is at least room at the table to use it again.

Tokiya settles on the sofa, propped against the arm. He puts one leg up along the other cushions, rests his other foot on the floor. “You haven’t. We’ve both been busy, I think.”

Masato crosses the room to him, considers a moment. “We have,” he agrees, and sinks into Tokiya’s lap. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept alone.”

With a laugh he can’t suppress, Tokiya says, “I think you didn’t mean that as suggestively as you said it.” He loops his arms around Masato’s waist, holding his own wrist.

Masato frowns a little, pressing his palms to Tokiya’s chest. “The room was empty,” he says.

“Mhm,” says Tokiya, unable to keep from smiling. “But I’m here now, and soon so will Ren be.” Masato’s fingers spread over his chest, catching in the fabric of his shirt. “You think the dog helped him?”

Masato sighs. He slides forward, worming himself between Tokiya and the back of the sofa so he can lay his head on Tokiya’s chest. “I hope so. Goodness knows neither of us could hold him like that for an entire flight.”

“Only his brother would pay for first class anyway,” says Tokiya. He rubs the back of Masato’s neck before slipping his fingers into Masato’s hair. Silky, dark blue strands catch at his knuckles. With hair so fine, Masato gets tangles even in his short length.

As Tokiya begins stroking through his hair, working tangles free, Masato melts. Whatever answer he’d meant to give is lost in a sigh against Tokiya’s chest. A soft warmth unfurls inside Tokiya’s body. Yeah, they’re doing this backwards, but there’s something precious about this contentment he’s feeling.

“Are you two going to want time alone tonight?” Masato asks.

Tokiya blinks. “Pardon?”

Masato presses his face to Tokiya’s chest, hiding his eyes. “I just. You… discussed. Fingers. On the phone. And I know you are both interested in. That.”

Hand stilling, Tokiya sighs. He bows his shoulders a little because Masa’s nose is sharp and tries to find the right words. Word. “Anal.”

“Glgh,” says Masato. “Yes, _that_.”

Tokiya gently tugs at his hair. “Masa. We both know you don’t want anything to do with it. And that’s _okay_.”

Masato lifts his head. “I’m trying to tell you that I’ll give you space if you want.”

“That’s sweet. But not tonight. He’s been gone. It’d be nice to be together, right?” Tokiya pets Masato’s hair, even and gentle. “We’ll… figure something out.”

Masato drops his head back down. “You aren’t dissatisfied?”

“No! Masa, love, no.” Tokiya kisses the top of his head. “I mean, we may end up not even liking it?” he offers.

Wryly, Masato laughs. “Or you will.”

Tokiya sighs. He leans his cheek against Masa’s hair and hums his agreement. If it doesn’t work one way, they’ll try until it does. “And… and you don’t even want to be in the room.”

“I… I don’t know?” Masato murmurs.

“The option is open,” says Tokiya. “But if you never choose to take it, I’m not going to be insulted.” He pauses, laughs a little. “Though now I’m picturing you giving running commentary?”

Masato’s shoulders shake. He doesn’t quite succeed in stifling a laugh against Tokiya’s collarbone. “That’s terrible. You’re terrible.”

“Exactly like that,” says Tokiya. He yelps when Masato tweaks his nipple in retaliation. “Hey!”

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse than letting you two fumble through it on your own,” Masato says dryly. He presses his palm over the nipple he tugged. “Have you even done any research?”

“Ah,” says Tokiya, grateful Masato can’t see his blush. “Not on _this_ network.”

Masato hums. “Nor on any of the others, from the dorms you’ve lived in. So you’re a no.”

“I’ve…heard things,” says Tokiya, feeling scolded. “Why, have _you_ looked anything up?”

With a knowing sigh, Masato lifts his head to look down at Tokiya. “When Ji—when Ren first brought it up. I ended up finding a guide that explained things plainly, including the necessity of preparation and potential for injury. I decided then it was… not. My preference.”

Tokiya tilts his head. “Nothing like reviewing medical information to get your motor running, huh?”

“We have _dance practice_ , Tokiya. Every day!” Masato pokes his chest. “Aside from any opinions I have, it’s impractical.”

“He’s not just gonna stick it in first thing,” says Tokiya, catching Masato’s finger. He’s so red in the face, he can feel it.

Masato looks horrified. “He had better not.”

Tokiya can’t help but laugh. He shakes his head. “He won’t, we won’t. We’ll be careful.” Tokiya takes Masato’s fingertip and sets it between his teeth, biting gently. “Is that why you’re not interested? You don’t want to get hurt?”

“Don’t make me be crass,” says Masato, hooking his finger over Tokiya’s bottom teeth. “It’s unhygienic.”

Tokiya tips his head, flicks his tongue over Masa’s finger. When Masa’s finger straightens, Tokiya sucks at his fingertip. He pulls it back, runs it over his bottom lip. “When’s the last time you washed your hands, huh?”

Masato’s pleasant flush immediately darkens. He yanks his hand back. “I. It must not have been long ago?”

“I’m saying there’s a sliding scale for what’s unclean. And there are a lot of different ways to be careful,” Tokiya murmurs. He doesn’t try to pull Masato back in, just waits, watching him.

Masato is giving the doorknob a dirty look. “You’re casual about this.”

Tokiya laughs. “I’m pretty nervous, actually. But, uh. I mean, what else is new?”

He grunts when Masato pushes himself up, mostly out of surprise. Masa doesn’t even look back, just goes to the bathroom and washes his hands. Tokiya can’t help but laugh. “Masa, really?”

“If you’re going to put them in your mouth, I had better clean up,” Masato calls.

Tokiya laughs as he flops back on the sofa. “I’ve had a lot worse in my mouth!”

“Don’t shout,” Masato says, and _turns on the shower_.

“You’re bluffing!” Tokiya cries, leaps from the sofa. He finds Masato laughing quietly to himself. “Ha!”

Masato turns the water off and says, “I was bluffing.”

Tokiya grabs him about the waist and kisses him, laughs as he kisses him. It’s so rare that Masato dares to be silly, and every time Tokiya delights in it. Better still, Masato is smiling too, and though their kiss must navigate teeth that only makes it softer, sweeter.

Until Masato presses cold, clean fingertips to Tokiya’s lip, pulls back to slip just one past his teeth. Tokiya nips gently at it, rubs the point of his tongue in waves over the pad of Masato’s finger. And oh, Masato’s cheeks go warm and pink, his eyes dropping to half-lidded. Intense.

Gently, Masato presses further. Tokiya lets him in, one finger, then two, dragging cool and firm over his tongue. Tokiya grips Masato’s hips in both hands, letting his jaw go slack.

Masato pets over his tongue, traces the points of his teeth, dips in dangerously close to the back of his throat, then recedes. He strokes Tokiya’s lips, and Tokiya can’t help but follow that touch with his tongue. He tries to coax Masato back in, sucks at his fingers, pants hard through his nose. The way Masato watches his own hand is reverent, his breath shaky as it edges past his teeth.

Masa’s fingers have warmed. The sharp crescents of his nails cut into the roof of Tokiya’s mouth when he sucks. In response, Masato presses on Tokiya’s tongue, digging in hard. Soft, low, Tokiya moans.

Masato withdraws. Tokiya swallows, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His whole mouth feels oversensitive, needy.

“Oh,” breathes Masato. “Tokiya.”

Tokiya can’t look away from his eyes. “Masa?”

Masato sighs a little. He presses his wet fingers to Tokiya’s chin, traces a slick line down the front of Tokiya’s throat. He watches their path hungrily, sucking his lips between his teeth. He hooks his fingers in Tokiya’s collar and pulls.

This kiss is fast, dizzyingly hard. Tokiya can only go slack, letting Masato in without any protest. Compared to his fingers, Masa’s tongue is burning hot, desperate. Tokiya’s head spins, heat flooding him, gripping tight to Masato’s hips.

A knock, then the sound of a bolt sliding back.

They part. Masato whispers, “Ren.”

They tumble from the bathroom like puppies, grabbing one another for balance. And there he is, a backpack over one shoulder, duffel bag over the other, a beanie pulled down over his hair and amusement in his eyes.

“I interrupted something?” he asks, grinning.

Tokiya reaches him first, ignores the question and kisses him. He smells like recycled air from travel, and a little like dog. But he kisses hot and sweet, drops the duffel to wrap his arms around Tokiya and hold him close.

Against his mouth, Tokiya says, “Hi.”

Ren smiles, nuzzles his nose. “I got you some presents, baby. In my bag,” he purrs.

Tokiya flushes because he _knows_ what those presents are. “Oh,” he whispers, “thank you?”

Ren chuckles. “You’re welcome,” he says, biting Tokiya’s lip and squeezing his ass.

With a laugh, Tokiya ducks out of Ren’s hold and punches him in the arm. “Jerk.”

Ren looks utterly unrepentant, grinning even as Masato takes Tokiya’s place, slipping his arms around Ren’s waist. Ren murmurs a pleased, “Hello,” into Masa’s mouth.

Tokiya leaves them to get reacquainted. From the way Masato molds himself to Ren’s body, it might be a while. So Tokiya lifts Ren’s duffel bag, works Ren’s backpack off his shoulder, and goes to deposit both on the end of Ren’s bed. And. Despite himself, he opens the duffel bag. He finds clothes, hair products, some of which are clearly on-set swag, and at the bottom, protected by plastic, a tube of lubricant and two long sheets of condoms. Beyond the fact that Ren somehow procured them, the sheer _amount_ of condoms makes Tokiya blush. Of course, obviously, they’re one-time use, but. But, oh.

He turns at the bright peal of Ren’s laughter, just in time to see Ren topple onto the sofa with Masato on top of him. They thunk down with a squeak of denim on leather. By the time Tokiya makes it to the back of the sofa, peeking over to the cushions, Ren’s wriggled Masato out of his shirt.

“You two okay?” asks Tokiya. He crosses his arms over the back of the sofa and rests his cheek on his wrist.

Masato straddles Ren, batting Ren’s hands away from his chest. “Fine,” he says, thoroughly distracted.

Ren reaches for him, his beanie coming loose and laying under his head. “Ichi, help.”

Tokiya raises his eyebrows. “With what?”

With a roll of his hips, Ren pulls his knees up, knocking Masato forward. He grins, poking his tongue between his teeth, and rubs his thumbs firmly over Masato’s nipples. “Nevermind,” he purrs as Masa arches. “Got him.”

“No, no,” Tokiya says, coming around to the front of the sofa. He pushes Ren’s knees down, climbs over them to kneel behind Masato. “He’s full of tricks. I’d better help.”

There’s a dark freckle just under Masato’s left shoulderblade, where the hard wing of bone gives way to muscle. Tokiya bends to kiss it, pressing his palms to Masato’s stomach. He can feel Masato’s breath hitch in his chest before he hears it.

“I’m - right here,” says Masato, but there’s no bite in it.

Tokiya grins, pulls Masato up against his chest and sits with him, kissing the curve of his neck. “Here?”

Ren sighs, running his hands over Masa’s thighs. “Now that’s a picture. I’ve missed this.”

Masato covers Ren’s hands with his own. He sighs, tipping his head so Tokiya can get to more of his neck. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

Tokiya nibbles the point of his jaw. “He was complaining about sleeping alone,” he says, sliding his hands down to Masato’s waistband to work on the button.

“No,” says Ren. He twines his fingers with Masato’s, keeping their hands out of the way. “And you weren’t with him? You left him all alone, Ichi?”

Tokiya gets Masa’s pants open, moves them just far enough to get to his cock. Masato’s head drops back onto Tokiya’s shoulder on a gasp. “I didn’t want to,” Tokiya says, watching down the line of Masato’s body. He starts to stroke him, slow and easy.

Breathy, soft, Masato says, “It was. I-it was a long weekend. Busy.”

“Oh, pretty baby,” says Ren. “Beautiful, lonely baby. We’ve got you now, not gonna let you go.”

Tokiya presses his free hand to Masato’s chest over his heart. “Got you,” he agrees, mindless, all his focus on the skin under his mouth and his hands. They rock together, the three of them, guided by the pressure of Ren’s thighs from below.

Ren hums, biting his lip. “Ichi, darlin’, bring him up here. I need to taste him, need you, Masa. C’mere.”

Masa gives a full-body shiver, lifting his head. Tokiya squeezes the base of his cock, kissing his shoulder. “You wanna?” he asks, climbing off the sofa. Without him, Masa sways forward, nodding.

It takes a little maneuvering, takes Tokiya’s hands on Masa’s shoulders, Ren’s on his hips, but Masato moves forward enough to throw one leg over Ren’s shoulder and bend forward. Ren smiles up at Masato like he’s being given a gift, licks his lips and edges Masa’s pants down as far as they’ll go.

Tokiya lets Masato cling to him, stands behind the arm of the sofa so Masato can push his forehead against Tokiya’s shoulder. And, feeling bold, he reaches between them to guide Masa’s cock, painting Ren’s lips with precome. Ren moans, tugs on Masato’s hips to pull him into his mouth.

This close, Masato’s breath rings in Tokiya’s ears. He can feel the way Masato shivers, the way he tenses before he starts rolling his hips. Ren goes pliant under him, eyelids fluttering.

Masa starts slow, gentle little thrusts over Ren’s tongue. He presses his forehead to the curve of Tokiya’s neck and watches, breathing hard. Tokiya can’t tear his eyes away either, not when Ren tips his head back to make the angle better and Tokiya can practically see the outline of Masa’s cock in his cheek.

Ren digs his fingers into Masa’s hips, pulling harder. Masato complies, rocking deeper on each thrust until Ren’s nose touches his belly. He arches, hissing out a breath through his teeth.

Tokiya reaches for Ren, pushes his bangs out of his face. His jaw is stretched, his face red, and he looks so gone, focused only on Masa grinding into his mouth. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, and he breathes in little gasps when Masato pulls back far enough to let him.

It’s Tokiya that whispers, “Harder.” Masato makes a questioning noise, but Ren opens his eyes and squeezes Masa’s hips. Again, Tokiya urges, “Harder, Masa.”

Tokiya feels it, in the way Masato tenses up before he thrusts, experimental. But when Ren can handle it, when Ren just _takes it_ , Masato shudders and does it again. And again. He finds a rhythm, long sinuous rolls of his body stuttering into sharp jerks. Masato clutches at Tokiya’s shoulders, gasps for breath like he can’t get air. The muscles of his back stand out in sharp definition and he’s never looked stronger.

It’s then that Tokiya realizes he’s salivating. He wants this. Doesn’t know which of them he’d rather be, or maybe he doesn’t know what he wants _first_.

Masato goes tight and tense, grinding down hard when he comes. His nails dig hot crescents into Tokiya’s shoulders, even through his shirt. His breath shivers.

And Ren takes it as long as he can, until he taps Masa’s hip twice to get him to pull back. He coughs, turning his head to the side, catching his breath. His mouth is red and swollen and _wrecked_.

Masato sits back on Ren’s chest, stammers an insensible apology and falls back further, laying between Ren’s legs.

Tokiya shivers. He drops to his knees, leans over the arm of the sofa to press gentle kisses to Ren’s mouth, pets the sides of his face. Ren’s a sweaty mess, and he tries his best to return Tokiya’s kisses, but he’s sloppy. Tokiya licks into his mouth, pulls back, kisses over Ren’s cheeks and nose and forehead.

Ren makes a soft, low sound that cracks as it comes out. He rasps, “That was fun.”

Tokiya can’t help but laugh. “Looked fun.”

Masato waves one finger in the air in exhausted salute.

Even upside-down, Ren’s grin is thrilling. “Harder, huh, Ichi?” he croaks.

If Tokiya could, he’d keep himself from flushing. Sadly, he has no control over it, can only feel his cheeks heat and mumble, “It seemed to work for you.”

Ren clears his throat, rubs at his jaw. “Yeah, it did.” He reaches down and pats Masato’s calf. “How’re you doing, beautiful?”

Softly, Masato says, “Hngh.”

Ren chuckles. He yawns, runs his tongue over his teeth, a careful series of movements to soothe his tired mouth. Tokiya reaches down and massages the hinges of his jaw. “There, there. Let me take care of you, now.”

“Mmn,” says Ren, shaking his head. “What I really want is a shower. Come with me?”

Tokiya blinks. “Now?”

Ren reaches up, covering Tokiya’s hand with his own. “Yes. Right now.”

Tokiya gets the distinct feeling he’s missing something. But he nods. “Okay.”

“Masa, you okay?” asks Ren, lifting his head. “You wanna come?”

Masato lifts his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Weren’t you the one that said three in a shower is dangerous?” Once he’s got himself zipped back up he sags onto the sofa.

Ren laughs. “Yeah, true.”

“I’ll listen for the thud,” Masato says, but there’s affection in it. He leans his cheek against the arm of the sofa and sighs. “Or two thuds, as the case may be.”

Rising to his feet, Tokiya says, “That’s a frightening thought.”

“We’re indebted to Masato for his practicality,” says Ren. He accepts Tokiya’s offered hand to sit up.

Tokiya has to laugh at the rats’ nest Ren’s hair has become. It stands a good two inches off the back of his head in a majestic tangle, and his bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat. When Ren reaches up to touch it, he winces. “Oh, hell.”

“Yep, shower,” says Tokiya, nodding. “And, like, _all_ the conditioner. Come on.”

“I’m never gonna get this out, am I,” Ren mourns, following him toward the bathroom. “Permanent sex-hair.”

Tokiya doesn’t bother hiding his laughter. “Let me see what I can do,” he coaxes, turning the light on.

By turns, they get the shower going and strip out of their layers. Ren’s wearing more because he’d been traveling; shirt, overshirt, sweatshirt, jeans, long socks, underwear. Beneath his clothes he’s tacky with sweat, releasing the smell of hours-old anxiety. He’d been on the plane, under a blanket and a dog, but he’d been conscious. Maybe so he wouldn’t be too disoriented when he got back for a reunion. Tokiya’s chest clenches tight at the thought of it.

Instead, he pushes Ren into the warm spray of the shower and climbs in after him, even if the misting he gets off Ren’s shoulders is cold. And yeah, they’re both half-hard, but for the moment they can ignore it so Ren can bow his head under the water and Tokiya can pick apart his tangles with conditioner and a comb. It’s reverent, it’s adoring, this chance to tend to Ren. Tokiya pushes the moment as long as he can, grabbing shampoo to wash Ren’s hair for him. He can see the tension leaving Ren’s body in the way his shoulders relax, the way his hands rest loose and easy on Tokiya’s sides.

“Ichi, you’re so good to me,” he mumbles, still raspy.

Tokiya just hums, guides his head back under the water to rinse his hair out. Next, more conditioner, ends to mid-length, according to the back of the bottle. Ren watches him with one eye, a faint smile on his face. When Tokiya pulls Ren’s hair forward, out of the spray of the shower, he huffs a little. He twists his hair into a bun, clips it at the base of his neck, and pulls Tokiya close. “Your turn, baby.”

Deftly, Ren turns them so Tokiya’s under the water. The sudden rush of heat combined with the slick-slide of Ren’s skin against his makes him shiver. But Ren just adjusts the spray so it hits Tokiya’s back, not the back of his neck. He lathers soap into a washcloth and begins meticulously scrubbing every inch of Tokiya, starting with his left hand. As he cleans finger after finger, then palm, then wrist, he murmurs, “Your hair’s pretty clean, right?”

Tokiya sighs, letting Ren travel up his forearm, his elbow, his bicep. “Yes. It’s fine. This is too much.”

“Let me,” says Ren, lifting Tokiya’s arm and paying extra attention to his armpit. Especially when he shies away and laughs. “Nope, no, let me. I was gone all weekend.”

Tokiya says, “I think you need it more than I do,” and whips the washcloth out of Ren’s hand.

With anyone else, it might turn into an ill-advised wrestling match, but Ren succumbs immediately. Rather than fight, he rests his forearms on Tokiya’s shoulders and smiles. “Can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” he murmurs.

“I can’t,” agrees Tokiya. He does little to actually clean Ren, though, preferring to draw aimless shapes on his chest with suds.

Ren’s quick to catch on but he doesn’t protest, just watches Tokiya with every outward appearance of contentment. Eventually, Tokiya even gets to work cleaning him, scrubbing until the reek of old fear is gone.

He’d never expected it of himself, but Tokiya likes the way they smell, both of them, when they’ve been exerting themselves. The sweat of hard work, the sweat of a long day. The smell of being between them, just bodies and nothing else.

But this, the smell of fear and anxiety, it’s got a sour undertone Tokiya doesn’t like at all. He doesn’t want to bring it up here, but it’s like he can tell. Even with Maple laying on his chest, Ren was a mess on the plane.

Tokiya doesn’t realize he’s sighed until Ren says, “Babe?”

“Oh - sorry,” Tokiya murmurs, wrapping his arms around Ren to make a cursory attempt at scrubbing his back.

Ren, bless him, doesn’t take Tokiya’s distraction as an insult. Even though he’s naked and _right there_. “You okay?”

Tokiya kisses the center of his chest. “Yes. I missed you.”

“I’m here now, sweetheart.” His voice is still a little hoarse, but his tone is warm. “I missed you too. Hard to be apart, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, what gives?” Tokiya mumbles. Ren chuckles and pulls Tokiya to him. His hands follow a romantic path, supporting Tokiya’s shoulders and waist, cradling him. But when their hips meet, Ren makes a soft sound and drops his grip to Tokiya’s ass to fit them together better.

Tokiya’s knees go weak. He mumbles, “Oh, oh. You just do what you want.”

“Seems to work out,” Ren agrees. He drags his thumbs over the small of Tokiya’s back, digging in. “Right?”

The pressure of it is so nice, loosening muscles Tokiya didn’t know were tight. He leans his forehead against the side of Ren’s neck. “Now we’re wasting water,” he mumbles, just to find something to be contrary about.

“Sorry,” says Ren, unrepentant. He loosens his grip and slips past Tokiya to get back into the spray. “Let me finish up, then.”

Tokiya sighs a little, but he stays out of the way as Ren grabs another handful of soap and cleans up, then rinses out his hair. He’s utilitarian about it, brisk, at least until he tries once again to “help” Tokiya. Then, his hands linger over Tokiya, teasing, taking particular interest in ensuring his cock and balls are spotless. The floor is too wet for Tokiya to have any leverage, so he can only cling to Ren’s shoulders and swear.

“Fuck — Ren!” he gasps. Ren just hums contentedly, shifting out of the way so the water rinses Tokiya clean. And Tokiya goes with it because Ren literally _has him by the balls,_ even though the water’s getting cold.

“Turn for me, almost done,” Ren coaxes. He guides Tokiya’s hands to the wall for support, knocks his knees apart. Tokiya knows it’s coming but can’t brace quickly enough for two slick, soapy fingers sliding between his cheeks. Tokiya’s forehead hits the tile as electricity races up his spine.

Ren strokes his skin in easy circles. “Watch your head, baby. You okay?”

How does he sound so calm? Tokiya shivers, but he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s. Weird, though.”

“Give me time,” Ren soothes. He moves his hand so cool water replaces the touch of his fingers. “It’ll get better.”

Tokiya barely trusts his voice, but he answers. “Trying to believe you.”

The water shuts off. Ren reaches for a towel, wraps it around Tokiya. He leans in and kisses the side of Tokiya’s face. “C’mon.”

In a bit of a daze, Tokiya dries himself. His heart is thundering in his chest, hard enough that his hands shake with his pulse. He can feel it now, the pressure of getting what he’s wanted at the price of being completely, terrifyingly vulnerable. He’d thought he’d be alright, but now he can barely breathe.

Ren touches his shoulder. “Ichi.”

Tokiya almost jumps, guilty. “Uh.”

With a half-smile, Ren says, “You disappeared on me again. You know, I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want.”

“I do,” Tokiya says, quickly. He pauses, frowns, hides his face in his towel. “I just… I’m. Um.”

Ren shifts, presses his palm to Tokiya’s cheek and guides his head up. His expression is so soft, so fond. “Whatever you want, we’ll do. Even if you just wanna go to bed.”

Tokiya wrinkles his nose. “You’re too obliging.”

“You’re complaining?” Ren asks, tilting his head.

“In a general sense, yeah,” says Tokiya. He screws his face up, grasping his courage. “I mean. You never just take what _you_ want.”

Ren laughs. “That’s the only thing I do!” He tweaks Tokiya’s ear, then pulls back to hang his towel up. “You just don’t notice because I’m good at it.”

“You’re so conceited,” says Tokiya, throwing his towel over Ren’s head. “You can’t even catch a hint.”

Tokiya walks out of the bathroom with his head up and his shoulders back. He has enough time to see Masato reclining on his own bed, looking up from his book with a raised eyebrow. And then the bathroom light clicks off, loud in the quiet.

“Ichi,” says Ren.

Tokiya lifts his chin. “Hm?”

He hears Ren take a step, so he takes one of his own, walking slow and stately to Ren’s bed. He turns, sits on the edge of it, and crosses one leg over the other.

“Ichi,” Ren repeats. He leans over Tokiya, close enough that his hair drips cold onto Tokiya’s thigh. “Did you mean it?” he asks, so low, so deep Tokiya feels it almost like a touch.

“Why don’t you find out?” Tokiya whispers.

Swift, forceful, Ren grabs Tokiya’s knees and wrenches them apart. Before Tokiya can do much more than squawk, Ren pushes his knees up, unbalancing him, knocking him onto his back. And fuck, Ren just holds him like that, dragging his eyes over the length of Tokiya’s body. From the flush on Tokiya’s neck, down over his chest, his belly, the way his cock gives away how deliriously aroused he is. And lower, past his balls, God, Ren’s staring at his asshole, just _looking_ and there’s nothing he can do about it. He tries to pull his knees together, but Ren leans into him, shaking his head.

“You’re so _pretty_ , Ichi,” he murmurs. “Trying to be brave.”

Tokiya kneads at the comforter, shame and need stopping his throat. He gasps when Ren drops his head, pressing a kiss to Tokiya’s calf.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of, beautiful. I’ve got you, gonna make you forget to be shy.” He smiles, nosing Tokiya’s ankle. “Hands and knees for me, baby.”

Ren lets go of Tokiya’s knees, but doesn’t leave him. He helps Tokiya push back onto the bed, holds his hips when Tokiya turns, kisses a soft, patient line over the knobs of Tokiya’s spine as he settles. With every gentle kiss, Ren takes a breath. He’s coaxing Tokiya into relaxing with him, until he presses his mouth to the base of Tokiya’s spine and he guides Tokiya into a sigh.

Tokiya pulls a pillow under his head and holds it, dropping his forehead to the cool cushion. Ren’s hands are warm and sure, petting over his sides. Tokiya’s breathing evens out as much as he can manage. He can feel Ren’s breath at the base of his spine, Ren’s hands on his hips.

It all goes so easy that Tokiya doesn’t notice Ren hasn’t stopped kissing his way down Tokiya’s back. It’s slow, reverent, the path his mouth takes, until he’s nuzzling the curve of Tokiya’s ass, mouthing the sensitive crescent where it meets his thigh. He bites there, hard, sucking Tokiya’s skin through his teeth.

The bloom of pain is electric, going tight from Tokiya’s knees to his shoulders. His mouth runs on its own, hissing, “Yes-ss.” He gets two thick handfuls of his own hair to keep himself grounded, even as he tries to push back onto Ren’s teeth. He wants a mark, a bruise for himself, proof this is real.

Ren does him one better. He releases, checks his own progress, gives a hum of satisfaction and sets about giving Tokiya’s other thigh a matching bruise. His bite is no less sharp, the ache of suction writing possession into Tokiya’s skin.

When Ren pulls off, he husks, “Yeah. Perfect, just like that.”

Low, warning, Masato says, “Ren. I know you have an oral fixation. But you wouldn’t. You _wouldn’t_.”

Tokiya lifts his head to try and see Masato, but he jolts at the burning-slick touch of Ren’s tongue licking over _his entire asscrack what the fuck_ —

Ren pries his cheeks apart with his thumbs and goes in again, teasing and light, and Tokiya shudders. It’s so foreign he can’t decide how to feel about it, so gentle he can’t get his bearings. Ren’s tongue leaves cold trails but he’s never far and he’s so, so hot. It’s like violation and worship at once, sapping the strength out of Tokiya’s arms and legs, until he can only bow his back and shake. He forgets Masato’s watching, forgets to muffle himself, forgets that maybe this should be wrong, forgets everything but the way Ren keeps teasing like he’ll press into Tokiya and never quite does it.

But then he _does,_ and Tokiya makes a rough, punched-out sound into — into Masato’s hand, sobbing with need and relief and the last vestiges of his restraint. He wants to shove back onto Ren’s tongue, can feel his hips moving in little needy circles.

He wants to ask Masato if he’s okay, if this is okay, but Masa’s hand is firm over his mouth, and Ren’s not stopping. He pries his eyes open, sees Masato’s face just inches from his own, concern and reluctant desire in the lines of his mouth.

“I think you’re killing him,” Masato murmurs, not taking his eyes off Tokiya.

Ren laughs, which is _intensely_ weird, weird enough to make Tokiya laugh too. He finds the motor control to hold Masato’s wrist, give him a squeeze.

“Killing him, he says,” Ren murmurs, moving away. “My tongue’s gonna fall out and he’s worried about you, Ichi, d’you hear this?”

Tokiya snickers, makes no move to get free of Masato’s hand or speak. There’s the sound of a cap snapping open, and Masato says, “Ugh.”

“You don’t have to watch,” says Ren, unconcerned. “But if you’re going to stick around, be nice.”

Tokiya sighs. He lets go of Masato’s wrist, looks up at him. He nods. He doesn’t know if he can do this with disparaging comments in the background. He doesn’t know if he can do this at all.

Masato sighs too. “You’re… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven,” says Ren lightly, pressing one lubed finger to Tokiya’s asshole. Tokiya yelps against Masato’s hand, shivers when all Ren does is draw little circles just like he’d done with his tongue.

Tokiya squirms, groaning his frustration. He drops his head to the pillow, slipping free of Masa’s palm.

Ren says, “Easy, baby, easy.” He holds Tokiya’s hip with his other hand, and at the slightest pressure sinks right in. “Oh.”

“Oh?” says Masato.

It’s relief, but Tokiya’s not sure it’s the kind he was hoping for. He does his best to accept the intrusion, breathing slow through his nose. “Oh,” he agrees. “Ren, what—?”

“Relax,” Ren coaxes. “Breathe.”

Ren moves, Tokiya can feel it. A warm burn, stretching him, not entirely unpleasant. But odd. He tries to breathe, tries to listen to Ren and relax.

Masato’s fingers pet through his hair. It gets easier. He sighs. He breathes. His cock hangs heavy, lonely.

“Am I,” Tokiya swallows hard, manages, “Am I doing okay?”

“Sweetheart,” says Ren, squeezing his hip. “You’re perfect. You’re so fuckin’ perfect, you don’t know. I just wanted to listen.” He curls his finger - it aches, but Tokiya bears it. “But I can talk to you, okay? I’ve got you and you’re doing _so_ good.”

“Well,” Masato corrects absently.

Tokiya laughs, and it loosens something in him, it must, because suddenly there are stars in his vision and his whole body is rosy-hot with pleasure.

Ren says, “Aha,” and it happens again. Tokiya moans hard, cut off by Masato slapping his hand over his mouth again, and he can’t even care. Tokiya doesn’t even know where his _legs_ are, can only try to spread them.

“Look at you,” Ren purrs, approving. “So easy, so pretty. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” And a second finger, Tokiya can feel it edging at him, and then it’s in, it’s in. “There’s my baby.”

Tokiya’s thighs tremble, little tremors running up his spine. Two, two, two, the number pounds through his head in Ren’s voice, and it’s hot, it’s tight, it’s all he can take. But it’s perfect, the way Ren moves and curls them, pinning Tokiya to the edge of orgasm but never letting him fall. He loses track, can’t tell how long Ren tortures him with it. His bones feel like molten gold. His breaths are fireworks.

A slick grip on his cock, stroking tight. Tokiya sobs, shaking. He comes, he comes, clutching the pillow until his fingers ache. And still, Ren’s inside him, still, his fingers move, one more affectionate curl before he withdraws. Tokiya whines at the loss, already feeling the edges of soreness. But then Ren presses his fingers against Tokiya’s hole, warm and steady, and that helps.

“Masa,” says Ren softly, a little strained. “Hold him for me?”

Masato’s hand slips from Tokiya’s mouth. He hisses as feeling returns to his lips, hot from the pressure of his teeth. Masato lays his palms flat on Tokiya’s back. “Are you going to fall, Tokiya?”

“Mnno,” Tokiya mumbles.

“Don’t. It’s a mess,” says Ren. He moves his fingers, rubbing firm, slow circles.

“Ohfuck,” says Tokiya, slowly relaxing.

“Good?” asks Ren.

“Good,” Tokiya agrees, sighing. “Just a little longer.”

Ren hums. The pressure doesn’t stop. “Baby. You’re gonna be so fun to fuck.”

“I’m already fun to fuck,” Tokiya mumbles. His filter, apparently, is just completely gone. At least it makes Ren laugh. It leaves him feeling warm, even though Ren pulls away.

Tokiya just leaves his head on the pillow, because Masato is rubbing gently over his back. He can hear the water running, can hear Ren moving around. He doesn’t know if he’s got shame anymore, kneeling with his ass in the air, but he’s too relaxed to care.

Clean-up happens, he’s sure of it. Because eventually, Masato and Ren guide him to lay down on his side, and Masato says, “No, no, I swear — _Listerine_ , Ren!”

Tokiya hides a smile in the pillow. Masato sits beside him, his hip by Tokiya’s forehead. Tokiya presses his face against it.

“You stayed,” he whispers.

Masato pets his hair. “I did.”

Tokiya reaches up, curls his hand over Masato’s thigh. “Why?”

Masato is quiet for a long moment. They can hear Ren gargle and spit. Tokiya starts laughing, quiet, helpless giggles into his pillow. Masato says, “For the life of me, I don’t know.”

Ren emerges, glorious and naked and still half-hard— “Did you come?” Tokiya asks, horrified.

“Ah, I got close?” Ren says, sheepish. “I was focused on something else, you know?”

“For the love of — come here. Tokiya, move over,” says Masato. Tokiya does his best to make room for them, ends up curled on his side on the far side of the bed.

Ren climbs onto the bed, grunting when Masato pushes him onto his back. “Wh—“

“It’s obvious you’re tired,” says Masato, lifting the tube of lubricant with two fingers. “You overexerted yourself today.”

“Gonna take care of me?” Ren murmurs, raising his arms over his head. Tokiya takes the opening and rests his cheek on Ren’s shoulder with a sigh.

Masato raises an eyebrow, squeezing a dollop into his palm and capping the tube with little ceremony. “Just this once,” he allows. And he strokes over Ren, practiced, easy.

Ren arches, his mouth falling open. “Masa, oh — I can see your dick, baby. We can share, c’mon.”

Tokiya nuzzles into Ren’s shoulder, but he watches Masato scowl before he wriggles out of his sweatpants with the use of only one hand. Tokiya can’t seem to stop smiling, warm from head to foot. And now he has a front-row view of Masato straddling Ren and stroking their cocks together. He can hear the way their breathing stutters, the sloppy wet sound of skin slipping through lube. The way Masato almost looks annoyed at how good it feels, the way for Ren it almost looks like pain.

Ren keeps his arms above his head, hands kneading at air. Masato strokes them both, braced on his free hand. Ren says, “Oh, oh,” and he’s gone, coming over his belly in no time at all.

Masato just lets him go, shifts onto his knees. Ren sighs, pressing his own cock to his stomach while Masato jerks above him. His other arm he leaves under Tokiya’s head.

“Baby, you’re gonna hate to admit it, I know,” says Ren, soft and dreamy. “But you liked it, before. I know you did. Watching us. You can do that any time you want.”

Masato flushes, looking away. Tokiya just hums and says, “Yeah. And I, um. I definitely appreciated your help?”

Ren grins, leaning his cheek against Tokiya’s forehead. “So did I.”

Tokiya lifts his hand. His limbs feel like lead, but it’s a pleasant heaviness. He drags his fingertips through the come on Ren’s belly, then reaches for Masa’s cock. He rubs his thumb over the slit and smiles when Masato shivers. Ren turns his hand over, cups Masato’s balls.

“Show us, baby. Wanna see you come, Masa, show us,” he coaxes.

And though Masato’s eyebrows draw down, though his jaw works on some kind of comeback, all he does is shudder out a breath and buck. Tokiya drinks him in, watching the tension roll its way up his body. Masa’s hand tightens, his breathing goes harsh.

“Please?” Ren purrs.

“Oh my God, shut _up_ ,” Masato whispers, but he’s coming despite it, pleasure and frustration warring on his face. He wants to be annoyed, he wants to be embarrassed, but he can’t help what he likes. Tokiya knows the feeling, just rubs his thumb under the head of Masa’s cock. He adores every little shudder Masato gives up, every begrudging sigh.

When Masato sits back, gasping, Ren fumbles for tissues to clean up with, mops at his belly. He has the most exhausted, satisfied smile when he murmurs, “Someone’s secretly a little kinky and he doesn’t want us to know.”

Tokiya stifles a laugh in Ren’s armpit, which saves him from Masato’s halfhearted retaliatory kick. Ren just grabs his ankle and gives him a tug.

“Aw, come on, Masa, you know I’m a hundred times worse than you are. I’m not gonna hold it against you,” he says. “Just glad to see you’re havin’ a good time.”

“Shut up, Ren,” says Tokiya, blindly reaching up to shush him.

He hears Ren’s muffled “Whoops,” before Ren sucks Tokiya’s fingers into his mouth. Oh, Tokiya hadn’t gotten the tissue treatment. But he’s so wrung out that this is just a casual way of getting cleaned up, nothing more than a few perfunctory swipes of Ren’s tongue.

They’re easy with one another, once Masato gets up. They all wriggle under the covers, arranging sheets and limbs, checking phones, turning off lights. Tokiya is about as useless as a ragdoll, but he ends up spooned against Ren’s chest, bracketed between them.

“Why’m I always inna middle?” he mumbles, nuzzling into the pillow.

“You’re the smallest,” says Ren. He yawns into Tokiya’s hair. “An-n-nd you don’t move.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tokiya murmurs. He grins, wiggling back. “You wanna touch my butt.”

Ren snorts. “That too.”

Tokiya reaches for Masato, making sure he’s close. “And I wanna hold Masa. Yeah.”

Masato sighs. “These are the idiots I love.”

“You do,” Ren agrees. “Love us. Love you.”

“Mm,” says Tokiya. “Love, yep, mm.” He drapes one arm around Masato, kisses the center of his chest.

Tokiya can’t recall now whether he planned to stay. Whether Otoya would be getting in late, would be waiting for him. Whether he had an excuse already. All he knows now is that he’s home between them, and he’s not going to leave. Whatever the morning brings, he’ll face it here.


	10. Surprise Moving Day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shining decides to make life easier on everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO it is really hard to write Shining Saotome because I didn't want to just throw in a bunch of gratuitous engrish and potentially run afoul of being completely unintelligible. Instead, Shining speaks with random, poorly-interjected Spanish and French, as well as lots of caps, bold, and italics.
> 
> Whatta guy.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my Bean.

There’s a knock.

Tokiya is moving before he even hears the second one, throwing himself toward the bathroom and his clothes. He hops into his pants as he hears Ren call out.

“Who’ssit?”

“Us! Have you seen Tokiya?” Otoya answers, muffled through the door.

Tokiya stumbles out of the bathroom, wriggling into his shirt as he goes. He sees Masato in his own bed, squirming under the covers to get pajamas on. He sees Ren, sitting up, rubbing his hand over his face, the sheets pooled around his bare hips.

Tokiya unlocks the door and opens it, saying, “I fell asleep here.”

It’s not only Otoya, it’s Cecil and Natsuki and Syo, the four of them crowded around the doorway like a chorus. Tokiya tries to look sleepy, tries to hide his adrenaline and how deeply, _deeply_ uncomfortable it is to go commando under this particular pair of jeans.

“Ah, Tokiya!” says Cecil. “We’ve got a meeting. We talked to the building manager about sharing dorms—“

“And now we’re all being involved,” says Syo. “It went all the way to Shining.”

Otoya gives him a little smile. “We’ve got to meet with him. So, um, maybe you want to change?”

“Ah, yes,” says Tokiya hurriedly, brushing past them. As he walks as quickly as he can to his room, Otoya follows. _Damn._

“You slept in there?” Otoya asks, a laugh in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to. Ren got back late and we were talking about the ad campaign.” Tokiya rifles through his closet to find a clean shirt, palms a pair of underpants and shuts himself in the bathroom. He can’t risk Otoya seeing any bruises, whether or not they survived the night.

(Oh, God, Ren’s mouth sucking marks into his skin—)

“The one he did over the weekend?” Otoya asks. “I heard there was a dog!”

Tokiya laughs, says, “Yeah. He was a pretty good one, apparently.” He shucks out of his jeans and gives himself just a second to indulge. He presses his fingertips into the bruises at the tops of his thighs and goes tense with goosebumps. They ache. It’s so good.

(—Ren opening him up, sweet and slow, lighting him up from the inside—)

“I wish I could have a dog,” says Otoya, wistful.

“Really? We don’t have the time,” says Tokiya, dressing as quickly as he can. “Or the place for it.”

Otoya’s response is almost lost under the sound of running water as Tokiya starts brushing his teeth. “I’m just wishing. One day, we could have a house, and a dog.”

(—Masato holding him, mindful, keeping him grounded.)

Tokiya spits. He splashes his face, runs a comb through his hair. It will have to do.

He opens the door and smiles at Otoya, purposefully taking the most naive path. “A house for the seven of us? Ah, no, eight. Nanami will need her own flat, of course.”

Otoya smiles back at him. “Yeah, of course!”

Tokiya tries to step past him to get to his shoes, but Otoya doesn’t move. He says, “Tokiya, I’m worried. You don’t normally just… fall asleep in conversations. You’ve been staying up late a lot recently, and. And—“

Tokiya raises his hand. “Please. I’m okay.”

Otoya’s eyebrows draw up and together. “Tokiya—“

“You’re not wrong,” says Tokiya, laying his hand on Otoya’s shoulder. He uses it to gently push Otoya out of his way, so he can throw his old shirt into the laundry hamper and get to his shoes. “But it won’t last forever. I’m working on a bunch of projects at once, that’s all.”

Maybe he should feel bad about how easy it is to lie. He’d lived a lie for a while, pretending to be his own brother, but this is easier. The stakes are higher, but he has accomplices.

Part of him wonders whether he could trust Otoya with the truth. But he knows the way Otoya looks at him. It’s heartbreak either way.

Otoya is quiet as he follows Tokiya back out into the hall. They meet up with the rest of the group in time to hear Cecil say, “—Really?!”

Masato sighs, his chin up. “He claims it’s the only way he can sleep well. I just don’t look.”

Ren chuckles. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” says Syo, his cheeks pink. “What if there’s a fire?”

Ren shrugs. “I put on pants?”

“I… don’t want to know, do I?” says Tokiya, raising his eyebrows.

“You slept in there last night!” Syo squawks, pointing.

“Um, yes?” says Tokiya, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Masato, mildly, says, “He fell asleep on the sofa while we were talking.”

“Aw, preserve his innocence,” says Ren, grinning. Boy has _some_ nerve.

“Is this about Ren sleeping naked?” Tokiya asks, tilting his head. “Who of us _hasn’t_ seen it yet?”

“You make me sound like a pervert exhibitionist!” says Ren.

Tokiya shakes his head, starting to walk toward the stairs. “No, it was that quick-change on the last tour. I think I’ve seen your junk more than I’ve seen your right eye.”

Ren busts into a laugh that almost drowns out Syo’s sound of disgust. “That’s not my fault!”

“No, it’s the costuming department,” Cecil concedes. “You’re talking about the shiny white pants, right? Those always made me feel like I had to pee as soon as I put them on.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement, coupled with Masato’s silent suffering. Syo says, “Okay, yeah, I couldn’t even jump in those pants. What was the point?”

“Retract your question before someone answers you. You _know the answer_ ,” says Masato quickly.

This time, both Tokiya and Ren laugh, and Cecil joins in, a blush coloring his tan cheeks. After a moment, Syo just grumbles, rubbing his face with both hands. “You guys are in one hell of a mood this morning.”

Warmly, Natsuki says, “It’s nice to see everyone happy.”

“Yeah!” says Otoya. “I hope we aren’t in trouble,” he adds, tapping his chin with one finger.

In a warm flutter of pink curls, Ringo pops his head around the corner and says, “Boys! Nobody’s in trouble as long as you get a move on.”

“Ringo-chan, looking lovely this morning,” says Ren. “Were you sent to make us hurry?”

Ringo puts one hand on his hip and boops Ren’s nose. “Yep. And I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so let’s go before my big mouth gets ahead of me!”

To his credit, Ren doesn’t react except to offer his arm, and then smile when he’s summarily denied. Ringo leads them, his gait easy and confident despite wearing heels.

Otoya catches him up easily, bounding beside him. “So you know the secret? Aw, tell us!”

“If you think your pout is as cute as mine, you’ve got another thing coming,” says Ringo, unmoved. He grins. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Tokiya takes his place near the head of the group as they walk, smiling to himself as Otoya, then Syo, then Cecil all fail to wheedle the answer out of him. Masato walks beside Tokiya, almost close enough for their shoulders to brush. Ren and Natsuki take up the rear.

As they make their way into the administration building, Masato says, “I wonder if it’s anything to do with the apartment building Kotobuki and the others moved into.”

Ringo whirls on one foot and says, “Bingo! I mean—!” He claps his hands over his mouth.

“And even _that_ was adorable,” says Ren, with no small bit of admiration. Natsuki makes an incoherent noise of agreement. Tokiya has the feeling that only that last line of social propriety separating them as teacher and student is keeping Natsuki from tackling Ringo.

“Is it true? We’re moving into an apartment?” Otoya squeals, beginning to bounce on his toes.

Cecil wraps his arms around one of Otoya’s and bounces with him. “We’re gonna live together in a high rise!”

Tokiya keeps smiling, though he can feel his stomach sinking. He doesn’t look over at Masato.

Ringo pouts. It’s weapons-grade levels of cute, far better than Otoya’s. “You boys are too foxy for me.”

“I think you wanted ‘sly’,” Masato offers.

Laughing, Ren says, “He knows what he said. Right, Ringo-chan?”

“Who can say?” Ringo lilts, turning his back on them. He leads the way down the gilded hallway to Shining’s office with his chin up, which only gives Ren cause for a smug grin.

“STARISH!”

Maybe one day, Tokiya won’t flinch at the booming sound of Shining’s voice. Maybe one day, Shining will speak five words together in _just one language_. Hope is a powerful drug.

They enter Shining’s office and stand in a line to greet him in unison. Ringo stands beside Shining’s desk, his hands folded behind his back. With the volume of his curls, the folds in his sweater, and the way he angles his chest, he’s so convincingly feminine.

Tokiya’s distracted enough by it he doesn’t notice the big, bedazzled ballot box on Shining’s desk.

“STARISH!” Shining bellows again, spreading his hands on his desk. “There comes a time in the life of **un jeune homme** where he must _leave the nest_. Yes, **abandon the protective bosom** of _routine prévisible_ and venture _into the unknown_ , WHERE **NO MAN** HAS GONE BEFORE!”

Ringo, translating, says, “Shiny recognizes the need to move you off the Agency grounds. You’re getting to be too popular for security to handle in such a wide-open space, and the next graduating class will be leaving the Academy soon.”

Shining nods to Ringo, adjusts his glasses and says, “Of course, _Miss Nanami_ will move to **her own** suite to facilitate her _CRÉATIVITÉ PAR EXCELLENCE_. You will be in the same _edificio_ NO LONGER, but **never fear**! _She will not be far._ ”

Ringo pulls a full-sized projection screen from a hidden pocket in the wall and snaps his fingers. A projector descends from the ceiling to show the layout of two apartments. He gestures, open-handed. “It’s not feasible to put all seven of you into one apartment, but we’ve found two that share a floor that will fit you. Both have a full kitchen and living area, but we need to figure out how to break you up. Apartment A has two bedrooms and two full bathrooms. The rooms are significantly bigger than the dorms you’re in right now, and there are even partitions you can draw down the middle for privacy. Apartment B is smaller. It has two bedrooms, but only _one_ bathroom. There aren’t any partitions, but that would mean one of you gets his own bedroom.”

Cecil chews his lip. “I don’t want that one,” he says.

“We know, _Sweet Prince_ ,” says Shining, beaming. “WE HAVE **UNA SOLUCIÓN ELEGANTE**! _Ballots_!”

“Pardon?” asks Syo. “We’re voting?”

“It’s a little tricky, but we don’t want you to fight,” says Ringo, producing a small pile of papers from behind the ballot box. “On these, mark which apartment all of you should go into. If we reach consensus this way, nobody’s feelings get hurt.”

Tokiya blinks as Ringo gives each of them a ballot and a pen. This would be the way to wiggle out of a room assignment without issue if two people were tired of living together. Without making it public. How surprisingly artful, for one of Shining’s plans.

“There are a lot of potential combinations,” says Masato, eyeing his paper. “Are you anticipating trends?”

“We just want to make sure everyone will live harmoniously,” says Ringo, cheery. “What we come up with today probably won’t be final. Your Quartet Night senpais were put together to make them get along, but the seven of you seem to do just fine. We want that to continue.”

“Now…” Shining bows his head, and a drumroll plays from somewhere within the recesses of his desk. “ **VOTE**!”

Otoya jumps. Tokiya just looks down at the paper and knows there’s only one option for himself. Chance may not be on their side, but he knows Ren and Masato will vote the same way he does. He doesn’t relish the idea of justifying his choices, but he marks himself, Ren, and Masato for Apartment B, and the others in A. He folds his ballot in half and moves with his bandmates to drop it into the ballot box.

Ringo takes their pens and says, “Now, let’s see what you said.” The instant he opens the box, sparkling lights run on tracks from Shining’s desk to illuminate the room.

“Everything’s a production here,” says Syo under his breath. Tokiya agrees, but he’ll take some idiosyncrasies with his apartment if it puts him alone with his lovers.

Ringo spreads the ballots out over Shining’s massive desk and hums over them. He blinks, then says, “Oh, wow. Well, four of you voted _exactly the same!_ ”

Tokiya feels his heart sink. Ringo snaps and, somehow, magically, their names appear in the floorplans of the apartments.

Apartment A: Otoya, Cecil, Syo, Natsuki  
Apartment B: Ren, Masato, Tokiya

Over the sudden rush of blood in Tokiya’s ears, Shining asks, “Does anyone _tiene objeción? Speak now or forever_ ** _hold your peace_** _._ ”

Natsuki makes a high-pitched noise of excitement before saying, “Syo-chan, we’re staying together!”

Masato looks away and says, “I’ll take the single.”

Ren shrugs. “Fine by me. Ichi?”

“Okay,” says Tokiya, curling his toes in his shoes so he doesn’t smile. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Does that mean I’m sharing a room with you?” Cecil asks, curling his hand in Otoya’s sleeve.

Otoya can’t resist hope like that. Tokiya knows it. Though Tokiya’s certain it wasn’t Otoya that voted to split them up, Otoya smiles and says, “I’d love to.”

“I don’t hear any objections,” says Ringo, beaming. “You boys are so accommodating.”

“We’re going to need to talk about your decorative choices,” Tokiya says, trying to pretend he isn’t thrilled. “I don’t want to split our room down the middle.”

“The apartments are pre-furnished and have already been decorated,” says Ringo, waving his hand. “The rest you’ll have to negotiate like adults.”

“You all must take today to pack, _et soyez prêt à cinq heures_ ,” Shining cuts in. “YOU MOVE AT **FIVE**!”

Quickly, they step back into formation and bow, each saying some variant of affirmation. Ringo claps his hands. “Go, go!”

As they leave, they meet Nanami in the hall. She looks nervous, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“Nanami!” says Otoya. “Are you here to talk to Shining too?”

She nods. “It was a surprise,” she almost whispers. “Did he tell you all something?”

“It’s a _good_ surprise, promise,” says Cecil, curling his hands around hers. “Oh! Your hands are so cold, Haruka. Are you okay?”

“Cecil-san! Ah - yes?” she says, though it sounds unsure.

Ren pulls his scarf off and drapes it around her neck. “Your health is important, Lady.”

“So is yours, Jinguuji-san,” she protests, but she doesn’t shake it off.

He winks at her. “I’m strong. Don’t you worry about me, now.”

Cecil brings her hands to his mouth and blows on them. Nanami turns such a pretty pink, but Tokiya is unmoved. It’s almost startling to him when Syo and Otoya each grip Cecil’s wrists to get him to let go.

“Well, if you say it’s a good thing, I’ll have to believe you,” Nanami says, smiling at them. “I’m warmer now, too.”

Natsuki says, “Take care of yourself, okay? Have a good meeting.”

She bows a little, and then she disappears into Shining’s office. While Syo berates Cecil for getting too handsy with her, Masato draws even with Ren and says, “Don’t complain if your neck gets cold.”

“How could I? I have so many other things keeping me warm,” Ren purrs, smiling.

“Well, let’s hurry! I have a lunch meeting, and I need to get packed up before then,” says Natsuki, clapping his hands together. “Syo-chan, come on!”

“Why do you need me to help you?” Syo grumbles, even as he picks up his pace to walk with Natsuki.

The response is bright, excited like a kid’s. “Because I have so many cooking supplies!”

Otoya says, “Oh… oh, _no_.”

“It’ll be okay!” Tokiya says quickly. “Syo wouldn’t let him get too far. And you already know not to accept anything he’s made.”

Cecil looks over, raising his eyebrows. “Is he not a very good cook?”

Despite the fact that Tokiya hasn’t eaten breakfast, his stomach turns with memory. “He is not,” he confirms.

“It’ll be okay,” Otoya echoes, finding a smile for Cecil. “Now none of us will be surprised by it.”

Tokiya says, “Right. I doubt Syo will even let him into the kitchen, really.”

Cecil smiles a little. “Yeah, I don’t know if any of us voted to separate those two.”

As the three of them walk together, Cecil wandering in the grass, they all take a moment to consider Natsuki without Syo. Syo without Natsuki. After a moment, Cecil says, “I mean, I didn’t want to make them sad.”

Otoya smiles, putting his hand on Cecil’s shoulder. “Exactly.”

Cecil looks over his shoulder, to Ren and Masato behind them. “Did you two vote to be in separate apartments? I’m surprised at how close the votes all were.”

Ren shrugs, then shares a brief moment of eye contact with Masato. Smoothly, he says, “There was _just_ a fuss about the way I like to sleep. I picked the two people who seemed to be able to handle it like men.”

Masato looks heavenward, but says, “Jinguuji and I already share a lot of the same schedules and personnel. It would be disruptive if we were separated.”

“You know, I like you too, but can you stop being so obvious about it?” Ren asks dryly.

“So you voted the same way?” Cecil asks. Tokiya keeps his posture easy, but he doesn’t like the way Cecil’s pushing.

Masato says, “Yes. Ichinose doesn’t seem to mind Jinguuji’s oddities, and I thought I might get a single room out of it.”

“You did,” says Tokiya. “At least, I don’t mind sharing with anyone.”

“It will be weird not sharing with you,” says Otoya. “Something new to get used to, I guess?”

Tokiya smiles at him, just a little. “I won’t keep you awake, at least?”

“Then - Ren!” Otoya turns and points at him. “Make sure Tokiya goes to bed on time!”

“Am I five?” asks Tokiya, to no response.

Ren just says, “I’ll do what I can, Ikki.”

Tokiya sighs, but Ren’s hand lands on his shoulder, tugging him back to walk with him and Masato. When Tokiya comes up even with them, Ren loops his arm over Tokiya’s shoulder.

Tokiya says, “I’m not the one that fell asleep on his lyrics.”

Otoya blushes, and Cecil starts laughing. “So I’ll put _you_ to bed on time, then!” Cecil crows.

Ren’s shaking with silent laughter. Tokiya can feel it where they’re touching, giddy and hot. Masato says, “I hope we haven’t missed breakfast.”

Otoya says, “Oh! I bet the apartment doesn’t have a cafeteria. We’re going to have to make our own food— _oh my God we have to catch Natsuki_.”

As Cecil and Otoya break into a dead sprint, Ren whistles.

“Cold-blooded,” says Tokiya softly.

“It was an honest question,” says Masato. “Though the outcome was better than expected.”

“Cafeteria,” says Ren, low. There’s still a laugh in his voice. “Let’s eat, okay? We can’t plan anything for ourselves on empty stomachs.”

Tokiya looks up at Ren and feels something warm unfurl in his chest. It’s admiration, a tiny moment of unfathomable, intense happiness. Ren’s reminding them to eat.

He slips, not where he walks but with his mouth, whispers, “I love you.”

Ren doesn’t miss a step, to his credit. But he smiles, squeezes Tokiya tight.

Masato sighs, but his smile is small and quiet and perfect.

It’s later, over coffee and breakfast in the cafeteria, that Tokiya agrees immediately to following Masato and Ren’s nutritionist. He doesn’t have much skill with cooking, but Masato is more than competent. To Tokiya’s surprise, they end up discussing chores; Masato will cook, Tokiya and Ren can trade off washing dishes. But if Ren’s modeling using his hands, Tokiya will take the dishes. Ren doesn’t mind ironing, and does it really matter anymore if they separate their laundry?

It’s surreal, but it’s nice. Masato and Ren know one another so thoroughly that there’s no pretense. They’ve each grown adept at picking their battles, and without an audience to their bickering, there isn’t a reason to fight. Just teasing, here and there, about long orange hairs in the shower drain and the setting on the heater. Tokiya is amenable to most all of it, still dazed by the possibilities laid out before them.

When Tokiya pushes himself up from his chair, he notices Masato watching him closely.

“Did I spill?” he asks.

Masato’s cheeks go dusky pink. “No, you’re alright.”

Tokiya looks down at himself, sees nothing out of place. He’s wearing yesterday’s jeans, but with a new shirt tucked into them. He gathers their plates, meaning to take them all to the bins for washing. Masato gets up with him, draining his water and helping to balance everything on the trays in Tokiya’s hands.

He whispers, “Are you sore?”

With all the excitement of the morning, Tokiya hasn’t paid much attention to his muscles. As he walks, he realizes … there’s nothing to notice. He smiles at Masato. “Not at all.”

The crease of concern between Masato’s eyebrows relaxes. “Ah. I’m glad.”

They set the dishes in the bin and turn from it, making their way to Ren by the door. Tokiya says, “Me too. I’m fine.”

“Everyone okay?” Ren asks, holding the door for them.

Tokiya says, “Very much so. Do you have much scheduled today or will you be packing?”

“Oh, so much packing,” says Ren.

Masato sighs. “In a fit of pique, we customized our room, and brought altogether too many things. Kurosaki’s brief stint as our roommate only added to the detritus.”

“Ah, you’ve had your coffee,” says Ren, “and the million-dollar words come out.”

Tokiya smiles. “It sounds nicer like that. Like you aren’t drowning in your combined stuff.”

“Do you have very much to pack?” Masato asks.

Tokiya says, “Not really. Otoya and I both. Aside from his, ah, plethora of sporting goods.”

Masato is the first to laugh, quiet and delighted. Ren throws his head back, puts his hands on their shoulders for support. Gallantly, neither of them lets him walk into the next lamppost that presents itself.

“When you finish with your packing, if you wanted to come over and help us, that would be —"

“Oh my God, that’d be amazing,” Ren cuts in. “I mean, you don’t have to, but.”

“We would appreciate it,” says Masato, “but you don’t have to.”

Tokiya says, “I’ll see. I, um. I’m completely certain that our fourth vote wasn’t Otoya.”

“Yeesh,” says Ren. He squeezes Tokiya’s shoulder before letting go, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You’re talking like it’s more than disappointment.”

Tokiya lets out a breath, looks over at the two of them and says, “I think it is.”

Both Ren and Masato wince. “Are you going to try to talk to him?” Masato asks.

“I’d better. But I’ll come to help you if I have the time.” Tokiya smiles, adding, “It’ll be okay.”

They make their way into the dorm building and find flat boxes and carts waiting outside their rooms. Cecil is in Syo and Natsuki’s room, laughing over the sound of clanging pots and pans. Tokiya’s door is open.

Without more than a nod to Masato and Ren, Tokiya pauses in the doorway to find Otoya seated on his bed. He’s staring into the middle distance, his arms wrapped around a basketball in his lap.

“I’m back,” Tokiya says, watching Otoya blink himself back to reality and smile before he even turns to look.

“Have a good breakfast?”

Tokiya takes a box from the pile and goes through the motions of standing it up. “It was alright. Did you catch up to Natsuki?”

“Ah, yeah.” Otoya laughs a little, spinning the basketball between his hands. “We talked about sharing the responsibility of cooking, and since he likes baking the most, he can make dessert.”

“That’s genius,” says Tokiya. He leaves the box on the floor beside his bed and starts filling it with books. “I admit, I’m pretty excited to share a kitchen with Masato. And you know you’re welcome to come over and eat any time?”

“Maybe we could make sure to do things as a group as often as possible,” says Otoya. “We were kind of worried that we’d be separated too much.”

Tokiya hums. “I agree. Though, the next time we tour maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Otoya smiles wryly. “There should be a middle ground.”

“It’s true.” Tokiya pauses, searching around for the packing tape. He closes the first box of books, turns to his desk.

“Tokiya.” The soft _shff_ of the basketball spinning between Otoya’s palms.

“Hm?” Tokiya answers, wrapping a rubber band around his pens.

“How did you vote?”

Tokiya looks over his shoulder. “Did you want to object, back in Shining’s office?”

Otoya flushes. “Um.”

“Otoya. If you did, why didn’t you say anything? If you’re going to go around asking everyone how they voted it’s because you didn’t like the result.” Tokiya comes over and sits beside Otoya on the bed.

With another flick of his wrist, Otoya sends the ball spinning between his hands. He keeps his gaze on it, defensive. “You aren’t answering me.”

Tokiya says, “I was one of the four matching votes.” Otoya’s head comes up with betrayal, but Tokiya keeps talking. “Cecil wanted to share with someone, and he got really excited at the prospect of sharing with you. I didn’t want to separate Syo and Natsuki, so to keep it from being complicated I just moved myself into the suite with three.” He smiles wryly. “I suppose I could have put the three of us - I mean, you, me, and Cecil - into the one with three, but Cecil was just so opposed to that apartment.”

Otoya looks like he wants to continue being angry, but his better nature won’t let him. He huffs a little, leaning against Tokiya. “Cecil _was_ excited, wasn’t he?”

Tokiya smiles. “He was. Are you upset?”

“No.” Otoya turns to him, warm and gentle and perfect as always. “It’ll be nice.”

Tokiya says, “I don’t think they were expecting us to be so close to consensus. This feels really rushed.”

Otoya nods. “By five tonight!”

“And you haven’t packed a thing,” Tokiya adds, batting the basketball from his hands. It bounces on the floor between their beds, and Otoya retrieves it expertly with his foot.

“Toki-yaaa,” he whines, popping the basketball up and catching it, holding it in his lap again. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

With a beatific smile, Tokiya says, “I am. You’re going to be relieved when we’re done first. Masa and Ren have already asked me to come help them when I’m done. They’re total pack rats.”

Otoya wrinkles his nose. “Do you think you’re going to have to get them to give up anything?”

“I think that if they’re all that attached to their stuff, the excess can go into Masa’s spacious single room,” says Tokiya, grinning. As much as it is a successful ploy to get Otoya to laugh, it’s also a good strategy. The more he thinks about it, the less enamored Tokiya is of the thought of having a dartboard anywhere near his bed.

“Would you rather try helping them, or your new roommates?” asks Tokiya, bumping his shoulder against Otoya’s. “Of the two long-standing friendships we’re dealing with, I trust Syo’s knowledge of Natsuki to be presented with a little less bias, do you know what I mean?”

“Are you going to be okay, Tokiya?” Otoya asks, suddenly serious. “I mean. They don’t fight like they used to, but—“

“I’m going to be okay. Because if I need somewhere to go, I know where the rest of you will be, right?” Tokiya says, smiling. “I bet I’ll fit on the couch in your living room.”

Otoya huffs. “Oh, don’t say it like that. Even if you’re probably right. What did you sign up for?”

“You’re supposed to be the positive one, listen to you,” says Tokiya. He makes another grab for the basketball, and is easily rebuffed. He leaves his hand on Otoya’s arm long enough to give it a reassuring squeeze. “If they can’t be adults, we’ll have a meeting about it and work it out. But I think they’ve come a long way.”

On the grand scale, how bad, morally, are the lies he’s telling? He knows he’s right, and it’s making Otoya feel better. In an alternate universe, one where Ren hadn’t propositioned him, maybe the conversation would go a little differently.

Then again, Tokiya almost wishes for that extra-dimensional convenience. If they’d started fucking while they all shared an apartment, would that have been better or worse?

Best not to dwell. Tokiya pushes himself up and goes back to his desk, gathering the few items he calls his own.

Otoya is moving, too, following his lead. It’s quiet between them, so they can hear the ruckus coming from the rooms on either side. At some point, Otoya became a constant, like an air conditioner or the rush of cars on a highway, only to be noticed by his absence. Tokiya knows Otoya is humming to himself as he packs, but it barely registers. Instead, he’s attuned to the sound of Cecil suddenly laughing, the sound of Syo fussing about one of his hats being squashed in a box.

Tokiya finishes with the desk, closes the box. With a great, screeching peal, Otoya wrests some packing tape from the roll he’s wearing like a bangle over his arm and tapes the top of Tokiya’s box shut for him. “One down?”

Tokiya smiles at him. “Thanks.”

It proceeds like that, each of them building and taping boxes as he needs them. When they get to the bathroom, they end up splitting the difference on products and tools, and packing up their closets is an exercise in hilarity when neither of them can remember exactly who owns one heinous, floral-print shirt. Eventually, Otoya agrees to take it, to sneak into Cecil’s suitcase.

They’re done quickly, trading off a marker to label their boxes with their names, leaning suitcases and duffel bags up against stripped mattresses. Otoya betrays his nervous energy by continuing to fiddle with his basketball long after he should have packed it, but Tokiya doesn’t comment. He just stands beside Otoya, puts his hands on his hips, and says, “I think that’s it.”

“Yeah,” says Otoya.

For a long moment, they’re quiet, nothing but the _shff_ of the ball spinning between Otoya’s hands.

And then, Otoya turns, his eyes earnest and wet. “Tokiya?”

“Hm?” Tokiya asks, looking at him without turning his head. No, he’s keeping his chin firmly pointed toward the boxes in front of them.

“I think I’m going to miss you,” says Otoya softly.

Tokiya lifts his hand, rests it on Otoya’s shoulder. “I know what you mean, but. I don’t think it’s true.”

Otoya blinks a few times, but he nods. “Mhm. You’re right.”

And then he smiles, bright and beautiful. “Okay! I’ve gotta go see how the others are doing. And you have a promise to keep, right?”

“Right. Good luck,” says Tokiya, letting go.

Otoya beams at him. “You too!” He sets his basketball on top of the tallest box and bounds from the room.

Tokiya takes a breath. Of all of them, maybe Otoya is the smartest. He could have confessed, if he _did_ have anything to say. But he didn’t. Yes, Otoya is wise.

However, Tokiya’s foolishness has its own perks, his complete lack of regret chief among them. He walks right into Ren and Masato’s dorm, bringing the remaining boxes and tape.

 

* * *

 

They finish before the deadline, with the help of the movers Shining hired. In a whirlwind of men in sturdy work boots and coveralls, the dorms are stripped bare in what feels like the last five minutes. And then they’re all climbing into a van to be transported to their new building.

It’s Syo’s turn to ride shotgun, collapsing into the front seat and giving a great, luxuriant stretch before buckling in. The rest of them squeeze into two rows of three in the back, putting Tokiya between Ren and Masato.

Tokiya doesn’t much mind, though it appears the others are intent on seeing whether he’s a calming force for Ren and Masato at all times. It’s a challenge at which he’ll be pleased to succeed, and the warmth of their bodies pressed to his sides is nice.

He knows they’ve all shifted responsibilities to the side to accommodate this sudden move. He knows, also, that he should trust Shining’s judgment in rushing them into it. But if he does the math, with the coming winter, they’re going to need room for new Academy grads, and quickly. It’s easy to miss something small like that, when you run an entire entertainment empire. He supposes.

Still, he doesn’t look forward to making up for all the things he’d meant to do today. But. But he’s got Masato on one side, and Ren on the other, and it’s hell on his sense of responsibility.

Their new building is huge. A towering skyscraper, lit up red with the sunset like a column of flame. The movers are already done by the time STARISH gets their keys, so that their new apartments are colonized by little piles of boxes. And if the dorms at Shining Agency were large, these apartments are palatial, great expanses of soft carpet and gleaming hardwood and floor-to-ceiling windows.

They move through the two apartments as a group of seven, getting used to the space. Everything is in warm colors, beiges and browns and eggshells. In contrast, the windows look out over a cityscape that’s a riot of color. White and red from the snaking coils of streets, scattered trees, green-yellow-orange-brown, the great, glorious expanse of sky above it all. They all stand by the windows, just taking it in.

Ren and Cecil and Masato tire of it first. They’re all used to views like this. But Otoya’s eyes are big, bright, soaking everything in.

“Tokiya,” he whispers. “We _live_ here now.”

“Otoya! Can I have the right side?” Cecil calls from what must be their shared bedroom.

Tokiya smiles a little. He pats Otoya on the back. “If we live here, we’d better unpack.”

“Right,” says Otoya, pulling himself away from the view. “Right. Um, yes!” he calls to Cecil.

Tokiya lets him go. He smiles to himself when he catches sight of Syo already fussing at Natsuki over the moving boxes, and lets himself out.

He finds Ren and Masato at the doorway to the single bedroom. He shuts the front door and, with a moment’s consideration, locks it. “Did you want to start unpacking?”

Masato looks over his shoulder and says, “Not even a little.”

Ren beckons him over, and when Tokiya obliges, rewards him with a kiss. “Hi.”

“Oh. Hello.” Tokiya nuzzles their noses together and sighs.

Ren smiles, soft and warm. Masato says, “Me, too?” even as he touches Tokiya’s neck. Tokiya goes with it, guided to the waiting softness of Masato’s mouth. It’s like coming home.

“We only _really_ need to get one bed to an acceptable state tonight,” says Ren, rubbing Tokiya’s back.

Masato kisses Tokiya’s cheek. “And we all have responsibilities we’ve neglected.”

Tokiya sighs. “You’re right. So… this one, then?”

“Mm,” Masato agrees. He sighs when Ren noses at the side of his neck. “I, oh. I have a —” Ren’s tongue drags over his skin “—meeting! Soon,” he breathes, pushing Ren’s head away.

Ren licks his lips, smiling. “You sure?”

“Yes, don’t tease.” Masato wipes the side of his neck with his sleeve. “I don’t have to leave for another half an hour or so, though, and I want to help.”

“You could help by letting us enjoy you,” Ren offers, low.

Tokiya smiles a little. “Do you trust us to unpack?”

Masato swallows, looking between them. “I… am not sure which answer I should give you,” he says, chewing his lip.

Ren murmurs, “Say yes.”

“Please,” says Tokiya. “You were so patient with both of us yesterday.”

Masato flushes, shaking his head. “It was fine,” he says, but he doesn’t stop Ren from leaning in to kiss his neck again. “But I - I can’t be late.”

“We can be fast,” says Ren. “I have an idea.”

Tokiya laughs at the sudden distrust on Masato’s face. “What’s the idea?”

“Can’t use the beds,” Ren murmurs, not lifting his mouth from Masa’s neck. “Sofa’s covered in boxes. But we’ve got a brand new kitchen with a bar.”

Masato frowns. “No. We’re going to prepare food in there.”

“I’m planning on eating,” Ren purrs.

Pleading, Masato looks to Tokiya for help. “Do you _hear_ this?”

Tokiya knows he’s no relief because he’s laughing into his hand. “I did. I mean, we can wipe the counters down.”

“You heard him, let’s do this,” says Ren. He’s gleeful as he pulls Masa toward the kitchen and helps him up onto the bar. Masato hisses with the cold, presses himself to Ren.

Tokiya follows, leaning against the counter. When Ren says, “Lay back,” Tokiya reaches out to guide Masato down, cradling his head.

Ren tucks Masato’s legs over his shoulders before he even starts working on the button of his slacks. “There, yeah. Look at this, baby, you’re at the perfect height.”

Tokiya hums, leaning over Masato to kiss him. He can’t help but agree. Masato clings to him, opening up so sweetly, but Tokiya still has all the leverage from being on his feet. He can undo the buttons on Masato’s shirt without shifting his weight, so he can feel Masato start gasping into his mouth when Ren swallows his cock.

If they have to make this quick, Tokiya knows the best course. Once he’s got Masato’s shirt open far enough, he drops his mouth to Masa’s nipple, sucking hard. Masa arches, his mouth open, digging his hand into Tokiya’s hair. It’s perfect, just a little too tight for comfort, so Tokiya bites down to make Masato tug. That sharp pain keeps him grounded, keeps him focused.

Tokiya covers Masa’s mouth with one hand, uses the other to thumb over Masa’s other nipple. Masa’s chest is heaving, rough gasps against Tokiya’s hand. And oh, the sounds from further down his body, wet and slick and rhythmic, and the hiss of Ren’s breath. They’re breaking Masato apart, the two of them prying at his weaknesses, and he’s letting them.

Soon, so soon, he’s shaking, clutching Tokiya’s hair like it’s keeping him grounded, sobbing into Tokiya’s hand. Tokiya lifts his mouth, kisses soft and slow over Masato’s chest. He trails a gentle line up Masa’s throat to his mouth. Masato sighs, cards his fingers through Tokiya’s hair.

“That was fun,” Tokiya murmurs, licking into Masa’s mouth. Pliant, Masato lets him.

Ren says, “I have good ideas. Admit it.”

Masato gasps, shuddering. Tokiya turns, watching Ren lick Masato clean with more thoroughness than is really needed. Masato crosses his knees behind Ren’s head and squeezes, arching, to make him stop.

“Okay, okay,” says Ren, patting Masato’s hip. When Masa releases him, he pulls Masa’s pants and underwear back up, buttons and zips his slacks for him. Tokiya follows his lead, buttoning Masa’s shirt back up to the collar.

Masa’s still flushed, but he’s got a glow to him, a faint smile threatening the corners of his mouth. “Your ideas,” he murmurs, “are acceptable.”

Tokiya nuzzles Masato’s nose, then moves back to let Ren help him sit up. Ren smiles up at him. “High praise,” he says, looping his arms around Masato’s waist. “But now I don’t wanna let you go.”

Masato hums, letting his forehead rest against Ren’s. “You have to,” he murmurs. “Are you going to get up to things without me again?”

“Do you want us to wait?” Ren asks. Tokiya swallows, because that’s equal parts cruel and sexy.

“No, no,” says Masato, sighing. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

Tokiya rubs Masato’s knee. “You won’t be distracted in your meeting, will you?”

Ren chuckles, even as Masato puts his hand on Tokiya’s face. “I’ll be fine. Let me down.”

With their hands on him, Masato slides from the counter. He stands just a little bow-legged for a moment, finding his balance again. He rolls out his shoulders, smooths his shirt and tucks it into his slacks. With one hand, he straightens his hair, then looks to the two of them for approval.

Tokiya nods, while Ren gives the thumbs-up. Masato smiles at them.

And then, easy as anything, he cups his hand over Ren’s crotch and squeezes. Ren gasps, his brows drawing up. It doesn’t prepare Tokiya at all for the next moment, when Masato does the same to him. The pressure is delicious and torturous at once, a sharp ache along the seam of his jeans.

Masato says, “I’m going now.”

“Oh,” Ren breathes, “Well. Then.”

“Keep it together until I get out the door, please,” says Masato. Lightly, he kisses first Ren, then Tokiya. He walks past them, his back straight and his head held high, gathering his wallet and his phone and his key.

With a smile over his shoulder, Masato leaves. He locks the door with a click.


	11. It's Still Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masato left Ren and Tokiya alone for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful commenters, you're all so supportive and lovely. I really appreciate your positivity. Who'd have thought this would get as long as it did (certainly not me)
> 
> And, as always, thank you to my Bean, without whose commentary and common sense, this would be a lot worse.
> 
> Hooray thank you all for being patient, that last chapter was just Very Long and I needed a break.

“I am…” Ren pauses, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m so proud of Masato. And kind of scared.”

Tokiya licks his lips. “He grabbed us by the dick. One at a time. That’s, um. That’s new. For him.”

“Oh my God,” says Ren. He leans back against the kitchen counter and pretends to dab at his eyes. “Little baby’s growing up.”

“Kind of makes you want to wait for him,” Tokiya murmurs, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his pants. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Ren and fights a smile at the frustration on Ren’s face. “Or not.”

Ren huffs. “You know what you left in the bathroom this morning, Ichi? Your underwear, on the floor right in front of the sink. I stepped on it, and nearly fell and died.” He leans toward Tokiya, his hands in his pockets. “So I got the double indignity of cleaning up after you _and_ knowing that, for just a little bit this morning, that beautiful ass of yours was bare in those jeans and I had to keep my hands to myself.”

“Indignity?” Tokiya echoes. “I think it’d be more dignified not to grope me in public.”

“Less fun, though,” says Ren, starting to smile. He grabs Tokiya by the hips and slips his thumbs under Tokiya’s waistband. “Ah, see? You’re wearin’ ‘em now.”

“But you don’t have to keep your hands to yourself,” Tokiya offers, “so it evens out?”

Ren digs his thumbs into the soft hollows of Tokiya’s hips and purrs, “And I got all day to think about you. I want to check on those bruises, you know?”

Tokiya shivers, loops his arms around Ren’s neck. “We need to unpack,” he says, not protesting in the slightest.

“Mhm,” Ren agrees. “Or not.” He rocks from side to side, swaying them gently. It’s almost a dance, a little predatory, Ren guiding Tokiya by his hips to lean against the kitchen counter. The granite is a cold bar against Tokiya’s lower back, but Ren is hot.

Tokiya holds the sides of Ren’s neck, rubs his thumbs just under the points of his jaw. “What do you want to do instead?”

Ren undoes Tokiya’s pants one-handed, dragging the zipper down. “Wanna bend you over this counter and fuck you until you cry,” he murmurs. “Sound good to you?”

Tokiya shivers, fighting the urge to buck against Ren’s fingers. “Want to try,” he whispers. Approving, Ren rewards him by slipping his hand into Tokiya’s briefs to cup him.

“How are you just so perfect, baby?” Ren asks, leaning in. He thumbs through the hair at the base of Tokiya’s cock, humming at Tokiya’s soft gasp. “Gonna make you feel so good. We’ve got this whole new apartment to absolutely _defile_ , the three of us.”

“Ah—mm,” Tokiya mumbles, arching. “Masa left.”

“I know, baby,” Ren soothes, rubbing his palm down the length of Tokiya’s cock. “But he saw how much you liked it. I think he’s getting curious.”

Tokiya nods, kneading at the back of Ren’s neck. He swallows a moan, breathes, “He - nn, he wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Ren keeps up the delicious pressure, murmurs, “Are you?”

“Yeah,” says Tokiya, trying to pull Ren to him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

With a warm, pleased hum, Ren leans in and gives him teasing, too-gentle kisses. Just brushes of his lips, sweet and soft and not enough. Tokiya surges forward with a groan, hauling Ren to him with his arms tight around Ren’s shoulders. And Ren laughs as he gives in, kissing Tokiya as deeply, as hard as he wants. Hot, so hot, the slick softness of his tongue and just a hint of bitterness - _Masato, oh_ \- and Ren’s hand still moving, all pressure and no friction, so Tokiya moans his need.

Ren answers him, soft and deep, slips his free hand down the back of Tokiya’s jeans and digs his fingertips into the bruise at the top of his thigh. Tokiya gasps at the ache of it, lets his head fall back so Ren can mouth at his neck.

“Gotta get these off,” Ren says, shifting both his hands to work Tokiya’s pants down. Tokiya tries to oblige him, holds tight to the counter when Ren drops to his knees to guide Tokiya’s feet free of his jeans. He pulls his shirt off over his head to tuck behind his back, keeping the cold of the countertop from biting so harshly.

Ren kisses the hollow of his hip. “Starting to think you like it like this. When you’re naked and I’m not.”

Tokiya’s cheeks flush hot, but there’s no denying it. He nods. Pleased, Ren knocks Tokiya’s feet further apart and settles between them, dragging his hands up the insides of Tokiya’s legs. “I’d keep you like this all the time if I could,” Ren murmurs, nuzzling the base of Tokiya’s cock. “God, you’re so pretty.”

Heat floods him; just the fantasy is devastating. Tokiya swallows, his tongue heavy in his mouth. All he can do is breathe, “Ren.”

Ren rises to his feet, pressing the length of his body against Tokiya’s. Soft sweater, coarse jeans, hot hands on his hips. Tokiya’s mouth falls open and Ren licks into it, grinding him against the counter. “Turn around for me,” he says, and chuckles when Tokiya scrambles to comply. He curls Tokiya’s hands over the edge of the counter and pulls his hips back so he’s bowed, then kisses right between his shoulders.

“There, stay like that. I’ll be right back.”

And then Ren leaves, and Tokiya is left standing, vulnerable, his back arched and his legs spread. He could shift, could stand up or follow Ren, but he finds he doesn’t want to. He wants to hear the praise in Ren’s tone when he comes back. Because Ren’s coming back. The feeling of trust is warm, keeps him there.

A low whistle makes him lift his head, look over his shoulder. Ren is there, smiling with disbelief and desire, adjusting himself in his pants. “You look so good, baby,” he says, husky. “So fucking good.”

Tokiya bites his lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh, love,” says Ren, coming to him. He curls his hands over Tokiya’s hips. “I’m not teasing.” He leans in, pulling Tokiya’s ass flush to his crotch, bites his shoulder. “But you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

Tokiya shudders at the harsh rasp of Ren’s jeans over sensitive skin, at the press of Ren’s body over his. “Then do it. Do it, Ren, come on.”

Tokiya hardly knows what he’s asking for any more, but he trusts Ren to handle it. When Ren pulls back, uncaps the lube, Ren still holds him steady. He’s still patient, teasing one finger against Tokiya’s asshole in slow circles, warming him up before pressing in.

It’s still odd. But Tokiya knows what’s coming, takes the intrusion of Ren’s finger like a promise. If he bows his back a little harder, if he spreads his legs and opens his hips, it’s almost easy. And Ren presses close to him, his chest to Tokiya’s back, his other hand massaging Tokiya’s belly.

“You’re still so tight, I dunno how much you can take.” Ren twists his hand, curls his finger, and Tokiya whines. “Relax for me.”

Tokiya tries, breathing slow through his nose. On an exhale, Ren tries another finger. It goes. Ren says, “There, that’s good. You’re so good, Ichi.”

The stretch burns, but it doesn’t hurt. Tokiya keeps his focus on his breathing, on the steady weight of Ren’s chest against his back. Ren twists and spreads his fingers, murmuring encouragement and praise into Tokiya’s neck and shoulders. Ren’s mouth never stops, sucking soft kisses into heated skin, telling him he’s good, he’s so good, he’s beautiful, he’s loved. He rubs reassuring circles over Tokiya’s stomach, his hips, strokes teasingly over his cock.

Soon, Tokiya’s relaxed, and the process begins again with a third finger. Ren’s cautious, slow, leaning around to watch Tokiya’s face for pain. Tokiya shies away, but Ren catches his chin and kisses him. “Don’t hide, Ichi. Tokiya. Let me see you.”

Tokiya tries to meet his eyes, but his heart aches, hearing his name out of Ren’s mouth. “I can—I’m okay,” he whispers.

Ren’s expression softens. He kisses Tokiya again, flicks his tongue past Tokiya’s lips as he curls his fingers, swallows Tokiya’s overwhelmed moan. He does it again, mercilessly rubbing at him until his legs shake. Tokiya can hardly breathe, torn between unrelenting shocks of pleasure and the sudden, complete assurance that it’s _not enough_.

“R-en, Ren, _Ren_ ,” he moans, “ _more_.”

Abruptly, Ren stops. Tokiya hisses, trying to rock back onto Ren’s hand. Ren holds him, soothing, “Hey. Hey, do you mean it?”

“Come on, yeah,” Tokiya mumbles, screwing his eyes shut. He doesn’t say _I trust you._ He doesn’t say _I know you won’t hurt me_. He just nods.

Ren licks his lips. “Okay. Okay, give me a second, beautiful.”

And it’s terrible, it’s awful, because Ren leaves him again, completely. It’s cold, he’s empty, his second thoughts start creeping in. He might not be able to - he might disappoint Ren, he might. He can’t.

Ren says, “Almost back,” in a tight voice, and his hand curls around Tokiya’s hip again. “Here. I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.”

Tokiya takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay.”

“Gonna talk through it, both of us, okay?” Ren murmurs, and something blunt and slick presses against his hole. “You tell me how you’re doing.”

“Okay,” says Tokiya, like if he repeats it, it won’t be a lie. Like he’s not nervous. He tries to remember that place of need to got his idiot mouth to start begging.

Ren starts to press into him, slow, so slow. Tokiya breathes. There’s the stretch again, the burn, but it’s eased when Ren wraps a slick hand around Tokiya’s cock and starts to stroke him. All Tokiya says is, “Oh, oh, oh,” on every breath.

Ren answers him, “Oh, yeah, oh,” until his hips are flush with Tokiya’s ass, and he’s shaking, little tremors that run from him into Tokiya like a spark down a wire. But he stays, Ren stays there, stroking over Tokiya’s cock and kissing the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he whispers, and it’s only then that Tokiya realizes Ren’s chest is bare against his back. There’s nothing but the weight of Ren inside him, too much, so much. Ren’s breath in his ear, Ren’s hand on his cock, Ren, Ren, Ren—

“I,” Tokiya begins, his throat clicking. “Oh.”

Ren nuzzles his neck. “You’re so tight, baby, you pulled me right in. Had to fight you so I didn’t go too fast,” he whispers, thumbing the head of Tokiya’s cock. Tokiya twitches, Ren groans. “Yeah. Fuck, that’s good.”

Tokiya shivers, tries rocking his hips, gasps at the stretch. He’s trapped between the counter and Ren, his weight on the balls of his feet, held open and so, so full. “Move,” he breathes, “move.”

“Like this?” Ren murmurs, pulling back just a little, then rocking slowly back in. At Tokiya’s answering nod, he does it again, slow and shallow. Just that small movement steals Tokiya’s breath, so he’s gasping each time Ren drives back home.

Ren’s control slips by slow degrees, as he pulls back a little farther, thrusts in a little harder each time. Tokiya rocks with him, lacking the leverage to do anything but brace himself. Tokiya slips under the force of it, trying to lift his hands to cover his mouth. Ren locks his arm around Tokiya’s chest and pulls him back, biting the back of his neck. Tokiya leans into him, shaking.

He didn’t think it’d be like this. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this - becoming not so much himself as a bundle of nerves and need, everything golden and hot. He’s got no control left, not over the sounds slipping from his throat or the tremors in his legs, nothing but the overwhelming pleasure rising within him in waves.

Ren whispers, “Shit, fuck, _fuck_ ,” and his arm goes tight around Tokiya. He shudders hard, jerking. Tokiya thinks, _oh, he’s coming_ , and it’s such a nice thought his cock twitches in Ren’s hand.

“Sorry, baby, I couldn’t hold out,” Ren murmurs to him. He strokes Tokiya faster, harder, even as his hips still.

“Don’t go,” Tokiya whines, pressing back against Ren. “Please.”

“I’ve got you, I’m here,” Ren pants, holding Tokiya tight to his chest. And like that, cradled and full, with Ren’s voice in his ear, he comes. When he tries to breathe and he hiccups, the tears overflow from his eyes. It’s almost an afterthought, hot trails winding their way down his cheeks. Ren catches one with his lips.

Tokiya’s floating, his eyes unseeing, reality slowly seeping back in.

“Ren,” he breathes. His chest is full of light. “Ren, oh my God.”

Ren laughs a little, says, “Gotta pull out, baby.”

“Okay,” Tokiya says, lifting one hand to rub his face.

Ren pulls out. It’s the first warning, the first indication that they went too far, because there’s a twinge of pain. Tokiya hisses. Ren says, “Sorry, sorry.”

Tokiya leans forward, putting his forehead on the cold countertop to ground himself. Slowly, he sinks back onto his heels. Ren rubs circles over his back. Tokiya sighs, and it hitches into a sob. He hides his face in his hands.

Careful, quiet, Ren says, “Ichi?”

“I’m okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Ren asks. He presses his thumbs to the base of Tokiya’s spine.

Tokiya nods, sniffling. “Just. That was, um. That was a lot.”

Ren’s tone is light, but it betrays the creeping guilt. “I didn’t actually want to make you cry.”

Tokiya laughs. He reaches back blindly and pulls Ren to him, sighing when Ren drapes himself over his back. Parts of him feel unspeakably disgusting, but Ren is warm and heavy and solid. “Good cry.”

Ren sighs, kissing the back of Tokiya’s neck. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Tokiya takes a deep breath, lets it out. He licks his lips. “Trust me. It’s good.”

“I probably should have been more patient,” Ren says, leaning his cheek against Tokiya’s shoulder.

Tokiya hums. “Does that mean I get out of unpacking duty?”

Ren pauses, then laughs. He bites Tokiya’s shoulder. “Okay, you’re okay.”

Tokiya chuckles. “Uh huh. But, uh. I… am. So gross right now, Ren.”

“My fault,” Ren murmurs, sounding pleased rather than apologetic. He shifts, slips his thumb between Tokiya’s cheeks and rubs gently over his hole. Tokiya shivers, but quickly subsides as the pressure helps him relax. “There, oh. Yeah, you’re a mess.”

“Ren,” Tokiya warns, then gasps as Ren slips just the tip of his thumb inside. “Ren!”

“Bad?” Ren asks.

“Weird,” Tokiya says, then considers. “Not bad. But I can’t take another round.”

Ren hums, withdraws. “I know, baby. We should get cleaned up.”

“Mm,” says Tokiya. When Ren’s weight leaves him, he tries to stand and finds his knees barely support him. He grabs onto the counter again and says, “Well.”

Quickly, Ren grabs hold of him, takes a little of his weight. “Easy, easy,” he coaxes, and together they move slowly toward the bathroom. Tokiya watches with half-fascinated disgust as Ren wraps a condom - _the condom_ \- in a fist’s worth of toilet paper and drops it into the empty trash can.

Things move in a haze for a little bit. The water turns on, the bathroom gets steamy, Ren pulls him into the shower. Tokiya’s legs protest at holding his weight, but Ren has strength enough for them both. There’s soap suds and Ren’s hands passing over him not to tease but to clean, reverent and careful. There’s Ren guiding Tokiya under the spray, saying, “I forgot towels, damn,” and leaving, naked and dripping. There’s Tokiya, leaning against the wall of the shower, holding on to his balance and fighting the urge to doze.

The high of orgasm clings to him, makes him want little more than to curl up with Ren and sleep, but they shouldn’t. So he accepts the towel Ren hands him and dries himself off. He finds socks and pants and a sweater to wear, robing himself in his softest things.

He knows Ren is still concerned, from the way Ren watches him walk. And he does ache, but it’s actually worse in his thighs and his feet. He has no regrets, not about this.

Still, Tokiya ends up stationed in a nest of blankets in the middle of their shared bedroom floor while Ren prepares to do the work. “Okay, Boss,” Ren says, “tell me where things should go.”

“You should come here,” Tokiya says.

Ren tries to look exasperated but it’s unnatural on his face. He smiles, crawls over to Tokiya on his knees and leans over him. “I can’t work like this, baby.”

Tokiya presses his face to Ren’s neck. “Just for a little while.”

“Oh,” says Ren. He drapes himself over Tokiya, squishing him into the nest. “This okay?”

“Mm,” says Tokiya, sighing. Ren is warm and heavy and he smells so nice, no longer like cinnamon but like _them_. The combined smell of them together, skin and laundry detergent. “Love you. I can hear your brain.”

Ren huffs. “And what is it saying?”

Tokiya makes a little, soft approximation of a scream. “Aaaaah, I broke him up the butt.”

Ren snorts, holds his breath, gives up and laughs. “Oh my God.”

“Well, it is.” Tokiya pats his cheek. “But I’m not. Broken, I mean. I’d have told you to stop if it hurt in the moment.”

Ren lifts his head to look Tokiya in the eye. “It didn’t hurt?”

“Not until, uh.” Tokiya huffs, feeling his cheeks start to turn pink. He just let Ren fuck him, why should he be embarrassed now? “Not until you pulled out.”

A dangerous twinkle lights in Ren’s eyes. “Better in than—“ Tokiya puts both hands over Ren’s face and squishes his cheeks together so the last words come out garbled. Ren blows a raspberry. Tokiya drops his hands, smiling a little when he sees the tension’s left Ren’s expression.

“Mostly? I’m tired,” says Tokiya, petting Ren’s hair back from his face. “Aren’t you?”

“Kind of,” Ren admits, leaning into Tokiya’s hand. He’s quiet for a moment, letting Tokiya run his fingertips over Ren’s face. Tracing cheekbone and eyebrow, temple to hairline, down over the feather-soft hair just starting to dry above his ear. “More concerned about my performance,” he murmurs, looking away.

“Wh— oh. Ren, hey,” says Tokiya, tugging his earlobe. As he talks, he spins Ren’s earring just to fidget. “You were good. You were, um. Really good.” Tokiya clears his throat. “Just. When you held me up? That was the best.”

Ren smiles, turning to kiss Tokiya’s palm. “Yeah.” He leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “Does that mean I can tell you how ridiculously hot you were? Because I thought I was going to die.”

Tokiya squeezes his eyes shut and says, “Agh.”

“I’ll save it, then,” says Ren, nuzzling his nose. “For now.”

“Shhh,” says Tokiya, covering Ren’s mouth with his own. Ren kisses him like he’s precious, gentle and slow, and they both sigh.

“Okay. Okay, I have to get up or I won’t,” Ren says between kisses, though he doesn’t pull away. Tokiya makes a soft sound of agreement against his lips, pets over the side of his neck. Ren mumbles, “Ichi. Babe, come on,” before slipping his tongue into Tokiya’s mouth, and Tokiya laughs, reaching up to pull Ren closer.

Ren pretends to protest while they neck like teenagers, curled up with one another in blankets on the floor. He says things like, “We gotta,” or “Let me up,” while pressing closer to Tokiya, until they’re irrevocably tangled, trading kisses like they’ve got nothing better to do.

It’s only once Tokiya’s mouth is tired, his lips past the point of being pleasantly sensitive, that he comes up for air again. Ren looks so contented, catching his breath.

“Hey. Hey, I love you,” Ren murmurs, smiling. “But you’ve gotta let me get some work done.”

Tokiya rolls his eyes, wriggles under Ren’s weight. “Oh, yeah, I’m the one pinning you.”

“With those pretty eyes, saying, _don’t leave me alone_ ,” Ren croons. Tokiya shoves his shoulder and Ren topples, laughing. “No, baby, why d’you gotta do me like this.”

Tokiya props himself up on his elbows and starts rearranging the blankets so he can sit again more comfortably. He still expects to hurt more than he does, finds that the only moment of real discomfort comes when he presses one foot against a nearby box. He scoots toward one of the bare beds and leans against it. “Now my eyes are saying _get off the floor and start unpacking_ ,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he adds, “Please.”

Ren snorts and gets to his feet. “Ah, there’s the magic word.”

Tokiya pulls his foot to himself and rubs at the arch. He winces. “Ugh. Ren, we can’t do that before I have to dance.”

“I figured,” Ren says lightly, opening one of the boxes of his clothes.

“No,” says Tokiya, looking up. “Like, you’re too tall and I was on my toes the whole time. So my feet hurt. That’s why.”

He waits. Waits for Ren to consider, for that quiet, disbelieving smile to grow over his features. “So… if you _weren’t_ on your feet?”

“I’d be fine,” says Tokiya, chewing his lip. “I mean. We’d still have to be careful, but. Yeah.”

Ren’s smile broadens. “Okay. Good to know I’m too big for you.”

Tokiya balls up a sock and throws it at Ren’s head. It misses, landing neatly atop an unopened box. “You get to say that _once_ and that was it.”

Ren chuckles. “Yeah, no, that’s a hell of an arm you’ve got on you, and you’ve got a whole ‘nother sock. I’m shakin’.”

“Damn’ right.”

Ren makes a noise of dramatic fear, then starts pulling clothes from the box. He left everything on hangers so they’re easy to transfer. Tokiya rubs at one foot, then the other, feeling cramped muscles finally start to protest, now that he’s far enough removed from coming.

Softly, he murmurs, “You know, I… was, uh.”

Ren turns to him, raises one eyebrow. “Babe?”

“How the hell do I say this,” Tokiya mumbles, rubbing his face with his hands. “Like, I knew I could take it today. It just felt, um. It felt right. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I was trying really hard not to,” says Ren, but he’s stopped moving. He’s watching Tokiya. “You think this was good timing?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Tokiya lifts his head. “I just. I don’t know, I was really, uh. _Really_ ready.”

Ren smiles a little, coming back to crouch in front of Tokiya. “Yeah, I could tell. I mean, I really appreciated you telling me when to go for it, but. I could feel it.” Tokiya huffs, ducking his head. Ren touches his cheek, guides his face up. “Ichi. I like that I can turn you on. I wanna make you feel good, I fuckin’ love it.”

Tokiya flushes, leans into his hand. “You do.”

Ren kisses the side of his face. He’s so honest with his desire, so real. “Love you. So much.”

With a sigh, Tokiya squeezes Ren’s wrist. “Love you too. You… you know I want the same for you, right?”

“Yeah,” says Ren. He grins. “But it’s nice to hear.”

Tokiya licks his lips. “You remember what I said before?”

“Same thing, twice as slow,” Ren murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Tokiya’s cheek. “You still want to?”

Tokiya nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Ren smiles. “Can’t wait.”


	12. A Surprise Or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana, puT THE CHICKEN I N T H E F R I D G E  
> (also, deus ex side OC go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends, it's been a hot minute  
> have a chapter, yaaaay  
> thank you to my Bean as always  
> and everyone who comments or kudoses or is sweet you're all wonderful lovely people

By the time Masato gets back, they’ve made it through the clothes, the sheets, the towels, the shoes. They decide to keep as much as possible in the bigger room, with things like heavy winter coats and special occasion clothes in the single. The large room should be for the three of them equally, as much as possible.

Masato returns with a bit of worry on his face, saying, “Have you two eaten?”

Tokiya fumbles for his phone, winces when he sees it’s nearly nine. “No-o.”

“I can order something,” says Ren, taking Masato’s coat from him. “Was there stuff at your meeting?”

“There was,” Masato agrees, offering his cheek for a kiss. Ren obliges him before going to the other room to hang his coat. “And it already smells like smoke in the hall, so I wasn’t sure whether you’d gone to eat with the others.”

“Smoke?” Tokiya squeaks. “No, we didn’t even smell it.”

Ren comes back, thumbing at his phone. “I’ll get enough for everyone, then.”

Masato sighs. “Yes, you might want to. We’ll go check on them.” He holds his hand out to Tokiya to help him to his feet.

Tokiya leans into Masato to give him a kiss hello. “Yes, we probably should.”

“You took the time to shower?” Masato asks, raising his eyebrows.

Ren chuckles. “Better than the alternative, trust me.”

Masato sighs a little, though his ears go a little pink. “I’ll have to trust your judgment.”

Tokiya straightens his sweater and says, “Make sure you get something without bell peppers,” without thinking. When Masato and Ren give him sideways looks, he says, “Otoya doesn’t like the green ones.”

“Oh my God, go check on them,” says Ren, laughing. “You’re too sweet.”

Masato puts his hand on the inside of Tokiya’s elbow to guide him toward the door. “It’s nice that you remember the little things.”

“He used to put them in my bowl when he thought I wasn’t looking,” says Tokiya, rubbing his nose. He toes into slippers so they can walk down the hall.

Masato smiles at him, warm and soft, clearly not buying it. When they open the door, he lets go, but with a gentle squeeze.

It _does_ smell like smoke in the hallway. But when they knock, Cecil opens the door with a smile. “Hi! Did you know, new style smoke alarms are plugged into the ceiling, and don’t just run on batteries?”

Tokiya resists the urge to facepalm. “Apparently they aren’t wired to communicate with the whole floor, because ours didn’t go off.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t set it off. Natsuki was just planning on disabling it because they’re too sensitive.” Cecil shrugs. “But it looks like we can’t.” He holds the door open so they can come in. The apartment is full of boxes, but the kitchen looks well-used already, with a pile of dirty cookware soaking in the sink.

The faint smoke smell is coming from the oven, where it’s propped open. A few sad pucks on a cookie sheet, like little charcoal briquettes, are all that are left of an attempt at cookies.

Syo says, “Holy crap, Masato, thank God.”

Masa smiles. “Ah, Jinguuji is ordering dinner. Better late than never, right?”

Natsuki, on the sofa, smiles and says, “I’m not used to the oven here, yet. It got hot so quickly!”

“Are you hurt?” Tokiya asks, coming to inspect his hands. The skin on his fingertips is red but not blistered.

“No, no, we’re all okay,” says Syo. He and Otoya are by the balcony door, fanning fresh air into the apartment.

“Ah — hey, we don’t have a balcony,” says Tokiya. “Just windows.”

“You don’t?” asks Otoya. “Aw, we were maybe going to see if we could have plants.”

“An herb garden, and maybe a little tree,” says Natsuki.

“That sounds nice,” Tokiya agrees. “But who will care for them if we have to go on long trips?”

Natsuki frowns, considering.

“A _plastic_ garden,” says Syo dryly. “Those don’t die. Just get dusty.”

“Practical,” Otoya quips, but he’s smiling when he says it.

“Way to break in the new apartment,” says Tokiya, sinking onto the sofa beside Natsuki. “What’s for tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to try again,” says Natsuki, nodding. “I won’t let this oven get the better of me.”

“No shame in admitting defeat,” says Syo, “especially if you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Please don’t get burned,” says Cecil, plunking onto the sofa on Natsuki’s other side. The whole sofa is jostled, and Tokiya braces for — well, not much, actually. An ache, not altogether unpleasant, like a reminder.

He glances over to Masato, meets his concerned look with a half-smile.

Ren comes in, takes one look at Otoya and Syo fanning air into the apartment and laughs. “So I ordered delivery,” he says, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“When’s it getting here?” Cecil asks, beaming.

“Twenty minutes or so,” says Ren.

At his side, Masato says, “Thank you,” under his breath. Their shoulders touch.

Eventually, the air is clean enough that Otoya and Syo give up on the balcony. They shiver as they huddle together, stuffing their icy fingers into their armpits. The seven of them arrange themselves in the living room, on chairs and sofas. Natsuki bears being fussed at with reasonable grace, sits in the middle of the sofa with his hands upturned in his lap even as the redness on his fingertips fades.

The food comes, brought up by building security, and they arrange it on the coffee table, sitting around it like kids. Tokiya doesn’t much need to move gingerly, but Masato’s eyes are on him. He ends up letting both Masato and Ren do things for him, grabbing a water glass or steadying his bowl. Better he accepts their attention than make a scene about it.

Plus, he reflects, watching Syo force Natsuki to keep _his_ bowl on the table, rather than have hot plastic against his tender fingers, it could be worse. And it’s nice, knowing these little gestures mean he’s loved.

Tokiya’s finding it very hard to be irritated with anything at the moment. He pays little attention to the specifics of the conversation over dinner, as it revolves around which artificial plants look most lifelike for installation on the balcony. Instead he takes internal stock, checks in with himself. His feet ache in the arches, and he’s reminded of Tomochika on days when she wears heels for hours; she’s casual enough with Nanami and Otoya at least to complain. The rest of him, though, is still pleasantly floaty. The nest of blankets in their bedroom calls to him, beckoning for a nap, to be cradled between Ren and Masato. That sounds so nice.

Testing, he yawns.

Otoya is the first to catch it, grumbling, “Toki-ya,” when he finishes. Then Syo, and Natsuki not long after, hiding his face behind his sleeve.

“It’s been a long day,” Cecil says, leaning on Natsuki. “We should make beds after this.”

“Or we could take all the cushions and make a fort,” says Natsuki.

“You don’t have to put a fitted sheet on a fort,” Otoya agrees.

Tokiya raises his eyebrows. Both Ren and Masato respond in their own ways, one with a low chuckle and the other with a sigh. “Aren’t you a little big for a fort? Spatially,” says Tokiya, despite himself.

“You’d be surprised!” says Natsuki, beaming. “And there are plenty of sofas here, especially if we borrow some cushions from yours. It’ll fit all of us.”

“Ah, I’ve been looking forward to my _bed_ all day,” says Ren, shaking his head.

Masato drops his chin. “For once, I’m in agreement.”

Tokiya smiles. “Same with me.”

“We put all the spoilsports in the same apartment!” says Cecil, scandalized. “Don’t you know how to have any fun?”

Ren’s mouth quirks. “Only the grown-up kind, Cesshi.”

“You walked into that one,” says Syo dryly, amidst a chorus of groans.

“You really did,” agrees Tokiya, unable to keep himself from laughing.

Cecil huffs. “I’m going to blame it on my fluency.”

“You’re fluent enough!” Otoya says, supportive and accusatory in equal measure. He yawns again, and Tokiya feels the urge rise in his throat.

Masato hides his mouth with his hand. This close, Tokiya can see his jaw working. “I think I should be going. It’s late enough.”

“Mm,” Tokiya agrees, shifting to get to his feet. “I’ll go too.” Ren rises behind him. They make it through their goodnights, leaving the others to discuss the finer points of fort-making. There’s no smell of smoke in the hallway, or maybe Tokiya’s gotten used to it. Their apartment doesn’t smell like sex when they get back to it at least, just fresh paint and new carpet.

After the reassuring click of the lock, Ren snickers. “A fort! They’re gonna make a fort.”

“It’s adorable,” says Tokiya, but it’s certainly not in their defense.

“I did notice you also neglected to make any of the beds,” Masa chides, making his way back to the bedroom.

“Hey, now,” says Ren, following. “You knew what we were gonna get up to when you left us.”

“Did I,” Masato murmurs, winding his way past boxes to regard the two bare mattresses in the bedroom. “Are these just identical?”

“Mm, I think so,” says Tokiya, opening the linen closet for sheets. “And we _did_ accomplish a few things. Or, Ren did.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Ren says, sketching a half-bow. “Wait, the blue ones have the highest thread count.”

Tokiya selects the correct sheets and tosses them in Ren’s direction. “I’m assuming that’s good?”

“They’re softer,” says Masato. “Perhaps the one on the left. It’s closer to more outlets.”

“Left it is,” says Ren, hauling the mattress away from the wall to begin dressing it. “How was your meeting, anyway?”

Masato catches one end of the fitted sheet and helps him. “I’ve been asked to reprise a role. Do you remember _Tears of the Morning_?”

Tokiya shakes a pillowcase out between his hands and wriggles a pillow into it. “I thought you died in that one?”

“Ah, I’d be appearing as my own ghost,” says Masato, smiling wryly.

“O-oh,” says Ren, biting his lips on a smile. “More Banquo or Casper?”

“Or Patrick Swayze?” Tokiya offers, deciding to go for four pillows rather than two. He shakes out another pillowcase. “Is your unfinished business romantic?”

“I haven’t gotten the scripts yet,” Masato says, tucking the sheet in around the foot of the bed, “but as I wasn’t murdered I suspect I won’t be the vengeful kind.”

Tokiya hums. “I don’t think I ever got the chance to see the first season.”

“That’s okay,” Masato says, pulling the blankets from the floor. Ren helps him, arranging the blankets over the bed. Tokiya lays the pillows over the head. “Ah, I don’t expect everyone to watch every program I make.”

“We should support you,” says Ren, catching Masato around the waist. He kisses just behind Masato’s ear. “Be good band-mates.”

Masato hums. “You’re fine.”

“Fine is just a step up from disappointment,” says Ren, pulling Masato back against his chest. “Don’t wanna be fine.”

Tokiya steps close, takes Masato’s hands. “I can download it, right?”

“Yes,” says Masato, relaxing into their hold. “But you don’t have to.”

“Shh,” says Ren. He nips the shell of Masato’s ear. “Let us love you.”

Masato pauses, before breaking into a smile. “Did you even clean up the kitchen from the last time I let you—?”

“Whoops,” says Ren, completely unrepentant. He laughs into the curve of Masato’s neck. “Nope.”

“Tomorrow,” says Tokiya, squeezing Masato’s hands. “Bed now.”

“If we must,” says Masato. “But tomorrow—“

“Tomorrow, yep,” Ren agrees, nudging Masato toward the bathroom. “But for now, admire how I got _all_ our fancy shit to fit in this one bathroom.”

Masato is nudged, and makes the appropriate pleased noises when he gets to the bathroom. They take turns getting ready for bed, brushing against one another, moving between the double sinks. They live out their little idiosyncrasies - the way Masato flosses _after_ mouthwash, the way Ren clips his bangs out of the way to wash his face but the ends of his hair still fall into the sink, the little rituals of toners and moisturizers. Tokiya checking his calendar now that he has a moment, planning the next day in his head before plugging his phone in to charge.

And then the three of them climbing into bed together, giving up on the pretense of clothing, skin on skin on skin. Masato lays his hand over the small of Tokiya’s back and murmurs into the dark.

“Are you really alright?”

Tokiya sighs. “Yes. More than alright.”

Ren’s hand covers Masato’s. The warmth spreads up Tokiya’s spine. He settles onto his stomach, tucking his arms under the pillow. “Still good?”

“Mm,” says Tokiya, stretching. When Ren’s hand slips downward to squeeze his butt, he hums. “Yep. Hey.”

“Yeah?” Ren murmurs. He leans his weight against Tokiya, his cheek resting on Tokiya’s shoulder.

“This is _our room_ now,” Tokiya says, grinning into the pillow. A little wave of giddiness rises in him.

Masato’s hand moves up to rest between Tokiya’s shoulders. “It is,” he agrees, his voice soft and warm. “We’ve made it.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Ren says, looping his arm over Tokiya’s waist. “We’re gonna keep you.”

Tokiya presses his smile into the pillow. “Yeah.”

Masato hums. “But, roll over, please. It’s easier when you’re on your side.”

Tokiya makes a show of sighing as he shifts, turning to face Ren with Masato spooned up against his back. “S’ry.”

“Why’zzis feel like distrust, Ichi,” Ren murmurs, curling his hand over Tokiya’s hip.

Masato kisses the middle of Tokiya’s back. “You mean that I’m not going to hump him in the night?”

“Wouldn’t complain if you did,” Tokiya murmurs. He nuzzles Ren’s neck as he settles. “If you wanted to.”

Masato says nothing. Ren’s arm moves. “Ooh, Ichi, you made his face so hot.”

“Be nice,” Tokiya chides. He reaches back, catching Masato’s hand and pulling it around to rest on his own stomach. “D’you wan’ me to switch sides?”

Masato curls closer, nosing the back of Tokiya’s neck. He sighs. “No.” He molds himself to Tokiya’s back, pressing his thighs to Tokiya’s so they curl together. His chest is warm.

“Can’t tell if you’re more mellow than usual,” Ren says, his hand finding its place on Tokiya’s hip again. It curves over his skin with easy familiarity, weighing him down.

“Sleepy,” Tokiya murmurs, drowsy. “’N’ I’unno if you remember? I got _super_ fucked.”

Ren shakes with laughter. “Super?”

“Super duper,” Tokiya agrees, sinking into the clinging grip of sleep. He feels Masato sigh against his back, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

The morning’s alarm is for all of them. Not to hide or sneak around, but for an early-morning workout session. Tokiya gets to meet their trainer. The three of them stumble about in the dark, yawning and leaning on one another, sucking down water and brushing their teeth, finding their shoes, hopping from foot to foot in an effort to shake fresh blood into heavy limbs. They move in a small pack, their postures growing straighter as they pass through the door, their faces settling into wakefulness.

Their trainer - Tokiya’s trainer, now, too, he reminds himself - is a bulletproof mass of a man with a bright voice and a calm demeanor. He puts Tokiya in mind of the way a very large dog can also be very mild. His name is Sato. He talks to Ren and Masa like they’re his little brothers. He talks to Tokiya like he’s their best friend. This habit makes it easier for Tokiya to want to please him, and at the same time easier for Tokiya to hate him utterly around the fortieth time he says “One more!” He makes sure they stretch properly, checks in with them on their nutrition plans, gives them homework and water. He claps Ren on the back and bows to Masato and gives Tokiya a smile and by the time the three of them are steaming under cool showers, Tokiya’s decided the guy’s alright.

It’s the last he sees of Ren and Masato all day.

Of course, (of _course_ ) they’re all busy, and their individual strengths and popularities keep them apart. Especially now, in a pause between tours and singles, a time meant to be a break to let them recover from being crammed together.

Still. When he gets back to the apartment that night to find Masato in the kitchen, it’s like water in the desert. Tokiya comes to him, touches his back. His apron is coming loose. “What are you making?”

“Dinner,” says Masato, tapping the meal plan tacked on the range hood. _Salmon, vegetables, wild grains_.

Tokiya undoes the tie on Masato’s apron and re-ties it more securely. “For all of us?” he asks, cinching the knot.

“Thank you, yes,” Masato says. He moves easily, like he’s already made the kitchen his home. “I thought we agreed I’d cook for us all.”

“Sure,” says Tokiya. He pulls Masato’s collar down to kiss the back of his neck, soft and dry. “Just asking. I’m gonna go change, okay?”

“Mm,” says Masato, offering his cheek. Tokiya kisses it, gives Masato a squeeze, then moves away to get to the bedroom.

When he passes through the doorway, he freezes. An incredulous laugh bubbles up out of him. He turns, looks back to find Masato still in the kitchen, wearing the barest hint of a smile.

Ren never could say no to Masato, and this proves it. He’s a vision on rumpled bedsheets, tied to the bedframe with packing tape, his arms outstretched. There’s a necktie bound around his eyes and the pendant on his necklace balanced over his lips. It trembles with each breath Ren takes, but stays. He’s so naked, so vulnerable, his cock curling half-hard over the hollow of his stomach.

Tokiya whispers, “Wow.”

Ren raises two fingers to wave hello.

“Tokiya,” says Masato, easy as anything, “Dinner’s going to be a while.”

“Good to know,” says Tokiya, stepping into the bedroom like a man walking through a dream. Carefully, he lifts the pendant from Ren’s mouth and asks, “Are your hands okay?”

Ren rasps, “Just fine, baby.”

Tokiya touches the hand nearest him to be sure, and it’s still warm all the way down to the fingertips. This close, he can see the tape was looped loosely around his wrist a few times before being wrapped around the leg of the bedframe. Not the most elegant solution, but a hell of a way to use up leftover moving supplies.

“You’re not allowed to let this fall, are you?” Tokiya asks, tracing Ren’s lower lip with the pendant. It’s a circle of agate, blue as Ren’s eyes, smooth and polished and warm from Ren’s breath.

“No.”

“Or what?” Tokiya asks.

Ren’s mouth quirks. “I won’t.”

Tokiya puts the pendant back in its place. “I do like your confidence,” he murmurs, “but I guess that means I’m supposed to make you slip, right?”

Ren hums softly. It’s as good as a yes.

Tokiya rises, fighting the urge to shiver at his own power. He takes his time walking away, changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He sorts the dirty laundry into lights and darks, washes his hands in cold water, runs a comb through his hair. Anything to calm the thunderous pounding of his heart.

By the time he comes back, Ren is flushed and breathing on a count. Tokiya can follow it, the way he’s trying to keep himself calm ( _four in, seven out, four in, seven out_ ). But he’s too still, too obviously “relaxed”. He’s beautiful.

“I think,” Tokiya says softly, laying cold fingertips just below Ren’s knees, “the hardest part for you will be not talking. Masa’s mean, isn’t he?”

Ren makes a low sound. Tokiya guides his legs to part, pulling Ren’s knees up. Conversationally, he says, “He knows you too well.” Without waiting for a response, he presses his knuckles just under Ren’s balls, cold against hot skin. Ren’s whole body tenses, his fists clenching uselessly in the air. Tokiya digs his teeth into his lip. No, he wants more than this.

Tokiya pulls his hand back, climbs onto the bed to lay his weight over Ren. Ren is hot as a brand under him, pliant when Tokiya mouths his neck. Slow, firm, Tokiya grinds down. Ren moans, tries to meet him, squeezes Tokiya’s hips between his thighs. He pleads wordlessly, hollowing his stomach and canting his hips, and it’s indescribably fun to arch away from him, to do nothing but pepper his throat with the lightest of kisses while Ren rocks into thin air.

Tokiya scrapes his nails down Ren’s chest and murmurs, “If I’m not done with you by the time dinner’s ready, I guess we’ll just have to eat in here. I’ll feed you, don’t worry.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” Masato says. “The fish needs to marinate.”

Tokiya pushes himself up into a sitting position. “Oh?”

“Yes. It will be a while,” Masato says mildly. He’s left the apron in the kitchen, but his sleeves are still rolled up to the elbows. Without Tokiya’s warmth, Ren’s skin pebbles with goosebumps.

Tokiya lays his hands over Ren’s knees and just holds them like he’s a particularly minimal set of armrests. “Have you planned this all out?”

Masato shrugs. “Only vaguely. I didn’t want to control your involvement overmuch.” His mouth quirks into a small smile. “I hope this was alright.”

“I’d say so,” says Tokiya. He pushes Ren’s knees apart and slides his hands down the insides of Ren’s thighs. “Whose birthday is nearest?”

“Mine,” says Masato. He sits on the bed by Ren’s hip, careful not to jostle him. The pendant quivers over Ren’s lips. “Were you thinking this was a gift?”

Tokiya puts on his best drawl. “Sure is tied up all nice.”

Ren snorts. The pendant starts to slip, but he catches it in his teeth. Tokiya squeezes his knees. “You’re gonna fail over a bad joke?”

“It seems so,” says Masato, tugging gently at the chain. When Ren releases it, grimacing, Masato lays the pendant at the base of Ren’s neck. “But we knew it wouldn’t last. I’m not disappointed.” For proof, he presses soft kisses to Ren’s mouth, his chin, his jaw. “It’s okay. It’s okay, my love.”

“Tried,” Ren whispers. Tokiya rubs over his hipbones, pets soothing lines over his thighs. Masato nuzzles their noses together, kisses Ren and pets his chest.

“You surprised Tokiya. That’s all I was hoping for, really,” Masato soothes. “Let us hear you now.”

Ren licks his lips, throat working. Tokiya rubs his thumbs over the creases of his thighs, steady, soothing. “You okay?” he asks, soft.

For a moment, Ren says nothing, swallowing air. Then, shaky, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” he breathes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Masato, at the same time Tokiya says, “No.” Masato cups Ren’s cheek and rubs his thumb over it, pressing their foreheads together.

Tokiya leans down, pressing his body over Ren’s, slipping his hands under Ren’s back. He presses his palms to the tacky sweat at the base of Ren’s spine, kisses the center of his chest. “We can stop,” he offers.

“Nn,” says Ren, tensing. His legs tighten around Tokiya like that might keep him there. “No, like this. It’s.” He swallows thickly. “Easier.”

Masato slips one hand into Ren’s, twining their fingers. “The bravest of us is feeling shy?”

Before Ren can retreat further, Tokiya says, “Probably because he can’t see what he does to us. Right?”

“Mm,” Masato agrees, rubbing his thumb over the corner of Ren’s mouth to press the tension out of his expression.

Tokiya thinks of _tell him until he shuts up,_ of all the endearments Ren uses for _him_. He says, “You’re so gorgeous, I wanna cry. Ren, baby, you know why I want to go slow with you? Because you’re precious, you’re so sweet, I can’t rush it.”

“Nn,” says Ren, stopping at the pressure of Masato’s hand.

“Don’t you dare,” Masato whispers, “don’t deny it.”

Tokiya squeezes Ren tight, feels the way Ren’s chest heaves on a gasp. “I’m serious. You know I am. If I could treat you half as well as you take care of me, hell.” He smiles a little, leaning his cheek on Ren’s chest over his heart. “I hope I could be that good.”

Mildly, Masato says, “You’ll get there, I’m sure.”

Tokiya laughs, relieved when he feels Ren laugh too. “Diligent practice, some good teachers?”

“But, for now,” Masato murmurs, “may we continue, Ren?”

Masato doesn’t even have to uncurl his hand from Ren’s mouth. Ren nods, sighing out a slow breath.

“If you try again to tell us you aren’t breathtaking, I’ll be angry,” Masato warns, low and soft and promising. He drags his fingers in a hard line over Ren’s chin, his Adam’s apple, grips his throat and digs his fingers in. Ren shudders. “There, that’s better, there you are.”

Tokiya nuzzles Ren’s chest. “Masa.”

“Hm?”

“Masa, you need to do this all the time. He’s so calm. And _so hard_.” Ren squeezes Tokiya with his thighs. Tokiya pokes him in the side. “You _are_ , you can’t lie about it. You wanna get pushed around and told how pretty you are.”

The words are a revelation. Ren flushes and laughs, but he doesn’t deny it, only tips his head back under the pressure of Masa’s hand on his neck.

“I wonder what will make you believe it?” Masato asks, amusement in his voice. He presses his thumb hard over the pulse in Ren’s neck. Tokiya’s never seen him look so affectionate, like Ren is a sweet thing, like he’s forgiven Ren for every slight and sin.

Tokiya hums, pushing himself up to get free. Ren’s got strong legs, and seems intent on crushing him. “Start with repetition. Positive reinforcement. And - ah, Ren, you’re gonna bruise my ribs, I swear.”

“Maybe don’t go then,” Ren breathes, husky.

“I’m still here,” says Tokiya. He puts his hands on Ren’s knees, considers, then leans his weight into pressing them further apart. When Ren goes, easy, he says, “Hah.”

“Good,” Masato says. With a soft smile, he drops his forehead to Ren’s again. “You make me happy. Do you know that? Both of us, we adore you.”

Tokiya hums his agreement, massaging down the insides of Ren’s thighs. He keeps his touch soothing, makes sure Ren’s aware of his weight never leaving the mattress. “Love you. Want you.”

Ren makes a low sound. His breathing is even again, but picking up. For a moment, that’s the only sound. Tokiya touches him with reverence, mapping the cords of muscle in his thighs, the soft crease where each thigh meets his hip, the faintest edges of his hairline. Masato holds Ren’s throat and breathes with him, their mouths so close but not touching.

A red flush creeps up the side of Masato’s neck. After a steadying breath, he says, “Tokiya. I. I may sound a little like a hypocrite, with what I’m about to ask.”

Tokiya smiles, pausing in his study. “Stop worrying and ask me.”

“May I watch you... take him?”

Ren stops breathing.

Tokiya kind of gets how he feels. Rushed, he says, “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

Ren whispers, “Fuck.”

With a wry little smile, Masato says, “Okay. It was just. It was lovely, when he did it to you.”

“Oh my God,” says Tokiya, covering his face with his hands. Ren laughs then, lifting his legs to wrap them around Tokiya’s waist. He squeezes. This one is less crushing, more a reassurance. Ren is trembling, but his grin is fearless.

Tokiya untangles himself, standing. “Give me a second, then,” he says, going for the bathroom. Behind him, he hears Masato ask Ren if that was alright, hears Ren laugh again, softer, as he says it’s fine, it’s good.

Of all the moments he’s rehearsed in his head, of all the fantasies he’s entertained, he hadn’t expected Masato’s willing inclusion. Somehow, it’s a little more pressure. Ren knew what he was doing — no. No, Tokiya does, too. He’ll do alright. Better than.

When he returns, warming the bottle of lube between his palms, Masato hasn’t moved. Tokiya pauses, just trying to take it in. Ren in a warm sprawl, his arms cast out to the sides almost carelessly, his hair clinging to the backs of Masato’s fingers. Masato, a cool weight, bending to keep Ren grounded, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking pristine as he had in the morning. His hand around Ren’s throat is unhurried, comfortable, a streak of pale white.

They’re his. He’s theirs. The truth of the latter is as pervasive as the need to breathe. The former awes him still.

“Still okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’m facing an issue,” says Masato, lifting his head. “I want to see, but I don’t want to let go.”

“Oh, then. Let me get the scissors,” Tokiya says. “We’ll move him.”

Ren squirms. “What are you—?”

“Trust me, I’ve got an idea,” Tokiya answers, tucking the lube under his arm before grabbing the scissors from the bedside. “At least, I think so. Masa, can you help him sit?”

Carefully, Tokiya cuts the tape around Ren’s wrists. Once Ren’s freed, Masato guides Ren to sit. He doesn’t for a second let go of Ren’s neck, like it’s a lifeline for them both. Tokiya pulls Ren’s wrists forward, massaging his hands.

“You still okay?” he asks.

Ren nods, though he looks unbalanced. “Yeah, my hands are good. But uh.” He shakes his head gently, and the necktie slips down over his nose. Ren keeps his eyes closed. “Li’l help?”

“Oh,” says Tokiya, and catches it. “Ah. Masa, while I take care of this, d’you wanna get comfortable? Behind him.”

Masato gets it, clearly, but he doesn’t move yet. Tokiya reties the knot on the necktie and rubs over Ren’s cheekbones.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Ren says. He scrunches his nose, and the tie doesn’t move. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Tokiya smiles. He ducks in, kisses Ren soft and warm. “You’re so good. Didn’t even look.”

Ren flushes. “Nn,” he mumbles against Tokiya’s mouth. Tokiya pulls away before Ren can hide in another kiss, looks over to Masato.

“Masa?”

“I see where you’re going with this, but I need some help,” Masato says. When Tokiya raises his eyebrows in question, Masato points at the straining seam of his jeans.

Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, that’d be uncomfortable.

Tokiya chews his lip, says, “Yep, hold on.”

He turns Ren’s hands over, presses them palm-down to the tops of Ren’s thighs. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Mm,” says Ren, nodding. When Tokiya lets him go, his hands stay, not even flexing.

“Good, good,” says Tokiya. He shifts, drops to his knees in front of Masato, presses his finger to his lips when Masato’s mouth opens in surprise. He mouths _shh_ , and thrills when Masato obeys.

Swiftly as he’s able, Tokiya undoes the buttons of Masato’s shirt from collar to hem. Then his jeans, his briefs, guided down his hips, over knees, past ankles. Masato helps, shifting his weight, lifting his feet, his free hand braced on the mattress for balance. It’s probably good, probably the only thing that keeps Masato from choking Ren out when Tokiya flicks his tongue over the head of his cock.

It’s Ren that makes a low, punched-out noise, not Masato. It’s Ren that shivers. Tokiya hums, takes Masato into his mouth to taste him, to thank him. And maybe, just a little, to torture Ren with the sound. He doesn’t stop himself from moaning because he’s _home_ and he doesn’t _have to_ and every time he does Ren gets closer and closer to whining. And fuck, but Masa tastes good. Salt and bitter and skin and pulse, so Tokiya chases it with his tongue.

Masato shivers, hips twitching. “Tokiya,” he whispers.

Tokiya looks up, doesn’t stop. He watches Masato’s jaw work around words that don’t come, holds the base of his cock in one hand and pulls off, licking his lips. “Yeah?”

“Did you, ah, change your mind?” Masato asks. He’s twisted awkwardly, his arm drawn across his body to keep hold of Ren’s neck, his hips turned fully toward Tokiya.

“No,” says Tokiya, and pulls the bottle from his armpit. He wiggles it. “Just passing the time until this warms up.”

Masato huffs a laugh that hitches. “Oh, then. Then, are you ready?”

Tokiya tucks the bottle back under his arm and smiles. “No,” he murmurs, and proceeds to give Masa’s cock the filthiest good-bye kiss he can manage. It’s self-indulgent as hell, just to feel Masato jerk, to have that hot, heavy stretch in his jaw just a little longer.

When he pulls back this time, Masato has his face hidden in Ren’s hair, his shoulders heaving. Ren is already a wreck, his chest and stomach flushed bright, his cock straining, neglected. Tokiya keeps himself from touching them, backs away.

“Okay,” he breathes, husky. “Okay, Masa, can you move?”

“I can,” Masato says. He shifts to sit against the wall, the pillows behind him, his legs on either side of Ren’s hips. He starts to pull Ren back to him, but Tokiya shakes his head.

“If he’s sitting up, it won’t work. Here.” Tokiya pulls Masato forward, makes him slouch, then leans Ren against him. After a little arranging, checking in, they’re both settled, Ren’s head tipped back against Masa’s stomach.

There might be something wrong with Tokiya. It’s heartwarming to him, the way Ren’s hands never once move. The way Ren leans against Masato so easily, anchored by Masato’s hand around his throat. It’s sweet, that’s the only word Tokiya has for it.

“So this was kind of as far as I got,” Tokiya says, smiling wryly. “I mean, I could tape him up but I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

Masato considers, then says, “Ren, arms up, please. Reach back, put your hands on me.”

Ren obeys, shaky and slow, finding Masato’s shoulders. He kneads the loose fabric there, asks, “Like this?”

“Can you hold it?” Masato asks, brushing Ren’s hair from his face. “Don’t let go.”

Ren nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Tokiya hums, kneels between Ren’s legs and runs his hands over Ren’s stomach. “Oh. Wow, yeah.”

“Good for you?” Ren asks.

“Hell of a view,” Tokiya agrees. Ren is flexed like a bow, all long and lean and open. “I, uh. I think I like this better than the other way.”

Masato hums, adjusting his grip on Ren’s throat. “So do I.”

Tokiya can’t seem to stop smiling. He runs his tongue over his teeth, pulls the bottle from under his arm, uncaps it with a loud click. “Spread ‘em, Ren.”

“Whatever you say,” Ren murmurs. He draws his knees up and apart, makes it look easy.

Tokiya swallows. Okay, okay, he’s got this, okay. Fuck, okay. He pours too much lube on his hand, so it runs down his fingers and over his palm. That’s probably useful, though, right, that’s probably good. He doesn’t think about it, just goes for it, just. Just. Rubs the pad of his middle finger over Ren’s asshole, draws little circles.

Ren says, “Mm,” like permission. Tokiya slows down, gets gentler instead of firmer, so Ren squirms and makes an impatient sound.

Masato catches on, slips two fingers from his free hand into Ren’s mouth. “You weren’t thinking of complaining, were you?”

Ren moans, minutely shaking his head. Masato hums approvingly. He watches down the line of Ren’s body, drawing idle patterns on Ren’s tongue.

Tokiya teases at him, slow, taking the time Ren never gives himself. After a while, he shifts his weight, leaning his cheek on one of Ren’s knees. He draws love, draws circles and infinity loops, edges at him and edges at him.

A hundred breaths in, Ren accepts it, the tension draining slowly out of him. He laces his fingers behind Masato’s neck, breathes around Masato’s fingers.

Another hundred breaths, and another. Tokiya pauses, pours new lube over his fingers, returns with two instead of one. Begins the process again, drawing slow circles. Tokiya can feel Ren’s moment of realization, the wave of tension that goes through him and is forcibly quelled, at Tokiya’s intent to make him wait even longer.

Tokiya waits for him to settle again before slipping a finger inside him. It goes so easy. Ren is hot on the inside, God, he’s hot and tight and Tokiya swallows hard, imagining that on his cock. Oh, no wonder Ren jumped at the first opportunity, no wonder Ren went for it when Tokiya said he could.

Ren’s moan is almost exasperated in its relief. He arches, sighing.

“Okay?” Tokiya asks. He can barely see Ren’s face, obscured by the tie and Masa’s hands. But Masato looks enthralled. He’s watching the slow thrust of his own hand into Ren’s mouth.

Ren tries to answer him, low. Masato pulls his fingers free, traces over his lip. “What was that?”

“Yes, okay,” Ren breathes.

Tokiya stops completely. He smiles when Ren groans. “How are your hands? Your arms?”

“You are the worst, oh my _God_ ,” Ren whines, arching again.

Masato squeezes his neck. “We care about you, dear.”

Tokiya curls his finger. “Mmhm.”

Ren tries to roll his hips. Tokiya moves with him — “Ah, come on, answer me.”

“I’m good. I’m good,” Ren mumbles. He sucks in a breath, lets it out through his nose. “Oh. Oh, please. Please, baby.”

“Ha, there you go,” Tokiya murmurs, and starts moving again.

Ren chants, “Please, baby, please, oh,” a slow rise in his tone. Masato pets his face, holds his throat. But he leans forward, watching the motion of Tokiya’s hand.

Tokiya curls his finger, rocks slowly into him. He draws out as much as he can, his teeth dug into his lip. He adds a second finger without warning, but Ren just hisses “Yeah, yes,” and takes him.

“He’s alright,” says Masato, anticipating Tokiya’s question.

Tokiya smiles a little. He scissors his fingers, working a cry out of Ren’s throat. “More than.”

“Dunstop,” Ren manages, right before Masato covers his mouth for him.

“Shh, we’ve got you,” Masato says. “We’ve got you, love.”

Tokiya hums, works him open, finally finds the combination of rhythm and pressure to make Ren shake. He’s merciless once he’s got it, vicious, pushing Ren until his cock’s leaking over his belly and he can barely breathe to make wounded noises into Masato’s hand. And God, he’s beautiful like this, falling to pieces in their hands, holding himself in their control.

“Wanna see him come,” Tokiya says, his mouth gone dry. “Masa. ’S that okay?”

Masato isn’t much better off than Ren, flushed high in his cheeks. He nods. “Yes. Please.”

Ren is already shivering with anticipation. He’s drawn his stomach in taut, his breaths shallow. He moans so low when Tokiya strokes his cock. Tokiya moans with him, finds a rhythm for him, croons to him.

“Come on, baby, show me. Come for me, Ren, let go.”

With one last groan, Ren does. He trembles, clenching around Tokiya’s fingers, painting himself. Tokiya digs his teeth hard into his lip just watching.

Slowly, slowly, Masato uncurls his hand from Ren’s throat, frees his mouth. Ren sucks in a deep breath, lets it out on a shaky moan.

“Hello, my love,” Masato whispers, stroking his jaw. “Are you with us? You can relax, now.”

Ren lets his arms fall to the sides, landing palm-up by Masato’s hips. “Oh,” he breathes, and then again, higher, sharper, as Tokiya pulls out of him. “Hey, wait, Ichi.”

Tokiya stops, half out, rubbing his thumb over the skin he can reach. “I’m here. I can stay.”

Ren sags, relaxing. “Stay. Just a little more, stay.”

Masato pulls the necktie from Ren’s face, tosses it in the general direction of the other bed. He pets Ren’s hair back, his hands reverent and gentle, now. “You’re alright?”

Ren grins up at him, blinking slowly. “Yep. Mm.” He waves one aimless hand and mumbles, “Ichi, you wanna fuck me? You could, I don’t even _care_ right now.”

Tokiya spreads his fingers, and Ren yelps. “Sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?”

Ren groans low and long as Tokiya pulls free of him. But as Ren had done for him, Tokiya massages his hole with two fingers, waits for him to sigh before he retreats. His hand hurts. His knuckles pop when he makes a fist. It’s fucking fantastic.

“Can’t right now, come back later,” Ren mumbles, dreamy.

Tokiya shakes his head, getting to his feet. His legs ache from being bent so long, refuse to steady him as he staggers to the bathroom. He shakes out the pins and needles, washes his hands, puts the lube back. Grabs a washcloth, wets it. Takes just a moment to press one freezing cold hand to his dick and hiss.

When he returns, Masato has only moved far enough to kiss Ren deeply, shifting half out from under him to close the distance. Ren is pliant, letting him in, eyelashes fluttering. When Tokiya swipes the cloth over his stomach, he jerks.

“Cold,” he complains against Masato’s mouth.

Masa sits up a little, huffs a sigh. “You’re okay.”

“I’m — ah! Oh, hey,” he mumbles, arching as Tokiya continues cleaning him up. “Yeah, mm.”

“There,” says Tokiya, dropping the washcloth off the edge of the bed. “Now move, Ren. You’re in the way.”

“Aww,” Ren says, even as he does his best to scoot closer to the wall.

Tokiya snorts, pulling his shirt off over his head. “Sorry, not feeling patient. How’bout you?” he asks, bending over Masato.

“No,” Masato agrees, hauling Tokiya in with a grip on the back of his neck.

Letting Masato strip him of his sweatpants, sinking into Masato’s lap and grinding against him, tangling his fingers in Masato’s hair and moaning into his mouth, it’s a relief beyond words. He bucks against Masato’s cock, lets Masato stroke them both. They each try to devour one another, kissing too hard, until Tokiya pulls Masa’s hair and sucks at his neck, muffling the shuddery moan he gives up when he comes. Masato isn’t long after him, shaking, his breath coming fast under Tokiya’s mouth.

It’s lightning fast, it’s too much, it’s the first breath of fresh air. Tokiya pets through Masato’s hair, catching his breath.

A low whistle makes them both look over. Ren offers Tokiya’s t-shirt, a half-smile on his face. “Here.”

Masato takes it, wipes them off. He leans forward, rests his head on Tokiya’s shoulder. Tokiya rubs the back of his neck.

“You okay, Masa?” he murmurs.

“Mm,” Masato says, looping his hands around Tokiya’s waist. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

Ren says, “C’mere,” holding his arm out. Tokiya rises, lets Masato go to him before spooning himself against Masato’s back.

Ren nuzzles into Masato’s hair. “As much as I love gettin’ fucked outta my head, can we maybe not go so hard for the next, like, week? Too intense.”

“Agreed,” Masato says, sighing.

“D’we go too far?” Tokiya asks, lifting his head to look down at them both.

Ren blinks at him. “I don’t think so? Wait, Masa, you good?”

“Um,” says Masato. He takes a breath, then smiles. “I’m alright.”

Ren grins. “You’re runnin’ through the best-of in your head, aren’t you,” he purrs, butting their heads together. “Tell me all your favorites.”

“Shutting you up,” says Masato smoothly.

Tokiya stifles a laugh in Masato’s shoulder. “You walked into that one.”

“No, really,” says Masato. “Every time I… stopped your mouth. I don’t know—”

“Me too,” Ren says quickly, before Masato can curl up or retreat. “Me too. Okay?”

Masato sighs. “Okay.”

Ren holds Masato’s cheek. “Masa, love, beautiful, listen to me. You didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want, okay? You know that, I coulda got up and left if I wanted to. I was there because of both of you. So I want to know what worked for you ‘cause if you just wanted to do that all again I’d be right here for it.” Ren turns his attention to Tokiya, half-smiles up at him. “And you.”

“Not too bad, right?” Tokiya asks, resting his chin on Masato’s shoulder.

Ren gives him a soft, besotted smile. “You,” he says again, and it’s sweeter than any endearment.

“Yeah,” Tokiya agrees.

Masato sighs. “Two prolific lyricists at work, ladies and gentlemen.”

Tokiya bites his shoulder. “Yep. Hey, speaking of our staggering eloquence.”

Masato chuckles. “Yes?”

“What did you say to Ren to get him tied down?”

Ren laughs. “Such sweet things he said to convince me, like poetry.”

“I asked if he wanted to, and he practically did it himself,” Masato says, petting the side of Ren’s face. “Because you and I had considered it before.”

Tokiya hums. “We did. I remember volunteering to be the guinea pig, if you wanted.”

“You still wanna try it?” Ren asks, his mouth quirking.

Tokiya licks his lips. “I… think we need something better than tape.”

“I think we’d need a way to get that in here. It’s hard enough getting lube ’n’ condoms, you know?” Ren murmurs, but he’s still smiling. “I don’t wanna use the tape anymore either.”

“How did you get the…supplies anyway?” Masato asks, raising his eyebrows.

Ren hums. “I have a guy on the outside.”

Tokiya snorts. “Seriously?”

“Sato,” Ren says, hiding his smile against his arm. “He knows about the ban but he doesn’t honestly believe we’d all abstain. Better safe than sorry, he told me.”

Absurdly, Tokiya thinks of Sato’s encouraging bark - _one more!_ He hides his face in Masa’s neck and laughs. “Oh, noooo.”

“He doesn’t know who I’m usin’ ‘em _with_ ,” Ren says. “But he says he’ll get ‘em for me when I need to stock up, no questions asked. Kinda think he’s expecting I’ll start supplying the whole agency once the word gets around.”

“You absolutely will not,” Masato huffs from behind his hands. “At least tell me you’re reimbursing him.”

“Not exactly a line item I can cross off my allowance, is it?” Ren counters, grinning. At Masato’s glare, he says, “I do, relax.”

“Medical supplies, maybe, or toiletries?” Tokiya offers.

“Health and beauty,” Ren intones, starting to laugh.

Masato sighs a little, smiling. “Okay, enough. I need to go check on the fish.”

“Oh yeah! Dinner!” Ren says, beaming. “That’ll be nice.”

“Mm,” Tokiya says, letting go so Masato can sit up. He watches Masato rise and dress in house pants and a thin sweater, moving graceful and unhurried.

Ren leans his cheek against Tokiya’s shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” says Tokiya. Masato scoops the dirty clothes from the floor, taking them toward the bathroom. Tokiya sighs. “I think we made a mess.”

Ren hums. “You made a mess of me, more like.” He curls his hand over Tokiya’s bicep. “But you’re not feeling left out?”

Tokiya laughs. “No, no. Trust me, I’m happy.” He pats Ren’s hand. “You’re fun to make a mess of.”

With a snort, Ren sits up. There’s a pleased flush on his face. “I’ll remember that, then.”

Tokiya follows suit, sliding off the bed. His clothes are — all gone, taken by Masato. This lifestyle’s hell on his laundry. Together, he and Ren get dressed and toddle out toward the kitchen. Ren crowds Masato against the counter to kiss his neck. Tokiya swats Ren’s ass on his way to the refrigerator. Masato shoos them both away with a tiny smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

They are shooed, but Ren sneaks back in after a moment for another kiss. Which prompts Tokiya to take one of his own, and Masato to push on both their chests, saying, “You’re incorrigible! Do you want to eat or not?”

Ren’s eyes twinkle with unsaid innuendo. Tokiya says, “Sorry, sorry,” pulling Ren from the kitchen with a laugh.

“Stop lyin’, baby,” Ren tells him.

“Not sorry, not sorry,” Tokiya amends, pushing Ren down onto the sofa. He arranges Ren to be a suitable pillow and climbs into him, sighing when they settle. “That’s better.”

Ren sighs too, letting his hands rest on Tokiya’s back. Masato joins them not long after, setting a timer on his phone. Arranging their three bodies on one sofa would likely be beyond their capability even if they weren’t each tall, but as it is they end up using an unopened box as a communal footrest and make it work.

When Masa’s timer goes off, they’ll eat. After that, maybe unpack a little more. Make the other two beds, pretend they’ll be used. Tumble into bed together, tangle themselves up, catch what sleep they can.

And do their level best to look Sato in the face in the gym in the morning.


	13. On The Importance Of Getting The Giggles During Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ren and Tokiya try to watch Masato's show.  
> They really do try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was gone? Ah-haha. Ha. Hhhh.
> 
> Okay I'm sick again, or still sick, or however it goes. But here's a chapter, hope you enjoy. You're all wonderful and lovely people.

There are some things they all miss about the dorms, the realization coming to them in fits and starts.

First: the cafeteria, open at set hours, providing food and drink and, more importantly, someone to clean the dishes.

Second: the on-site laundry service, gathering their clothes and linens in great white bags to be returned, cleaned and folded.

Third: the expansive Agency grounds, useful for a contemplative wander as much as a healthy jog.

Now, everything must be done under their own power. Some things are minor inconveniences, easily managed, but others require a little more finesse. Aside from the expected fiasco of Natsuki’s continued attempts at cooking, there’s also the issue of the various musical instruments at which they must maintain proficiency.

They discover, to varying levels of jealousy, that Nanami’s suite has a grand piano installed. True to her natural generosity, she invites Masato to practice whenever he’d like. The others, with more portable chosen specialties, work out practice times in their rooms, or sometimes come together in twos and threes. At one point, Tokiya walks in on Natsuki and Otoya playing _Dueling Banjos_ , with Ren delightedly recording it all on his phone. At another, he finds himself crammed onto the piano bench with Masato, laughing and trying to keep up as he and Nanami improvise and don’t tell Tokiya the chords.

(Fourth: the proximity of practice rooms, with walls of mirrors for dance, and with soundproofing for music.)

They use the Agency’s offsite dance studio for practice. Otoya still goes to spend time at the orphanage, though now it’s a longer ride. Ren and Masato each must bow to the whims of their families. Cecil still likes to climb any tree near to him (though he laments, when given the chance, the cold, modern, metropolitan nature of their new building). Natsuki stops burning himself, and, with supervision from Masato and Otoya, makes passable cookies. Upon tasting one, Syo has a nervous breakdown in the den, tucked up under Ren’s arm.

(Fifth: certain idiosyncrasies they used to ignore must now be dealt with, peace be damned.)

Nanami comes to see them whenever she can, and shrugs off the impropriety of allowing them to invade her apartment in return. These living spaces are more segmented, less intimate, so that they can sprawl across Nanami’s sitting room and still be far enough away from her bedroom that nobody is nervous. She and Otoya both laugh about how strangely large these apartments are, even compared to the dorms.

(Sixth: the four remaining suitors for Nanami’s heart now live together. At least, Tokiya thinks it’s just those four. HEAVENS only wanted her as a power play, to be certain. Their senpais in QUARTET NIGHT, however…)

Nanami, in particular, looks very small in her apartment. It came pre-furnished, just as theirs did. She doesn’t have many personal touches, but every time they see it, her apartment is clean.

(Seventh: They all miss Tomochika, even those who didn’t know her well. If only because Nanami adores her, and now time and circumstance keep them apart.)

For all of these things, for the newness and periodic inconvenience, for the little frustrations and unexpected obstacles of a new living arrangement, Tokiya is grateful. Because, in return, he’s home with Masato and Ren when they all part for bed. Their bed, the one bed they’ve colonized, smells like home. They learn how to live around one another, breaking apart Ren-And-Masato to let Tokiya in. And, for a little while, they don’t attempt anything very intense in the bedroom. Nor the shower, nor the kitchen, nor the living room sofa, despite the way the suggestions make Ren laugh.

It’s an unspoken agreement between them, not that they went too far, but that they’re moving quickly. That they ought to slow it down and give one another some time to adjust. To remember that curling up together and making out is an option. There’s no competition, no need to escalate.

Which is great and all, but it’s starting to make Tokiya antsy.

Not in an ungrateful way, of course. Just. He’s starting to feel like before. Anticipatory. Needy.

(It’s not as though they’ve abstained completely; the help-me-sleep handjob is on permanent rotation, along with its utilitarian cousin, the I-woke-up-hard-now-what assisted masturbatory exercise. Bless Ren’s oral fixation for the occasional afternoon delight, but sometimes, faced with lack of sleep and stress, they’d just rather nap. _Nap!_ )

So maybe when he and Ren are doing their level best to watch _Tears of the Morning_ while folding laundry — Ren has a knack for pairing socks together, but is terrible at folding shirts without crumpling the bottom hem — Tokiya isn’t exactly focused on the plot. Not that it’s riveting in the first place. Oh, whenever Masato’s on screen, wasting slowly away at the hands of some insidious, incurable disease, he and Ren pause their running commentary. And Masato is the perfect tragic figure, endlessly loving, patient even through his pain, his eyes fever-bright. But everything else around him is just so _boring_. There’s a headstrong female protagonist with nothing but pluck and courage on her side, slowly thawing the heart of a stubborn, snobby man with nothing but his money to keep him company. And Masato, quietly withering away in the background, acting as periodic conscience for them both.

Even when they fast-forward through every scene that doesn’t have Masato in it, they’ve barely cracked three episodes by the time the laundry’s done. Ren pauses the playback in defeat.

“I didn’t realize he _started out_ dying.”

Tokiya huffs, lifting a pile of folded shirts and sweaters. “We’re all dying, Ren, just very slowly. Help me with— ah.”

Ren catches the top shirt before it slips, setting it on the pile in Tokiya’s arms. “You okay, Ichi?”

“Yeah,” says Tokiya. He chews his lip. “I mean. Yeah.”

“Uh-hm,” says Ren, gathering the rest of the clean laundry. He follows Tokiya to the bedroom. “Tired?”

Tokiya doesn’t look up from the drawer he’s putting sweaters into, one after another. “Mm. No?”

Ren touches his back. “Hungry?”

Tokiya snorts, shuts the drawer. “No.”

“Ah,” says Ren. He nuzzles behind Tokiya’s ear. “Horny?”

Tokiya cracks a smile. The shirts, next, go into their drawer. His hands move on autopilot. “It depends.”

“On what?” Ren asks. He closes the drawer, then leans his hip against it. He’s wearing stupid designer jeans with a button fly. Tokiya _loves_ those jeans.

Tokiya drags his gaze up to Ren’s face. “How are you feeling?”

Ren’s mouth quirks. “It depends.”

“Ren—hmp!” Tokiya’s response is lost in a kiss. Ren’s laughing, and he puts up no resistance when Tokiya shoves him off. “Ren-n.”

“Yeah?” Ren asks, grinning. He leans in again, his hands coming to land on Tokiya’s hips.

Tokiya doesn’t push him away this time. “I don’t just want to get it over with, you know?” he asks, wincing as he says it. “I mean.”

“I know,” says Ren. “Nothin’ but a nice, long afternoon stretching out ahead of us, no demands on our time.” He slips his thumb up under Tokiya’s shirt, rubs little circles over the skin he finds. “Pity Masa’s gone.”

“Yeah,” says Tokiya, sighing. He loops his arms around Ren’s neck. “Poor Masa.”

Ren snorts. “Sensing a little sarcasm there, Ichi,” he murmurs, crowding Tokiya against the dresser. “You’ve been in a mood today.”

“I do wish he was here with us,” says Tokiya. He tilts his head, sighing when Ren obliges him and drops kisses down the side of his neck. Ren’s so gentle, Tokiya goes warm and shivery. “Mm, but. You’re the one I had in mind.”

Against Tokiya’s skin, Ren murmurs, “Why’s that?” Maybe Ren can feel how much Tokiya’s pulse has picked up under his mouth.

Someday, Tokiya won’t be nervous of saying it, he’s sure. That day is not today. He can feel the rush of blood to his face before he takes the breath to speak. “Want you to fuck me.”

Ren pulls back slow, meeting Tokiya’s eyes with a half-lidded gaze. “Yeah?”

Tokiya swallows, echoes, “Yeah.”

The world moves quickly after that, anchored at the start by Ren’s sudden, sharp grin. Ren manhandles Tokiya onto the bed. Ren climbs over him, straddles him, kisses him like he’s starved for it. Tokiya’s laughing as he tries to respond, but their teeth clack together and Ren huffs. He mumbles, “Gotta do all the work around here,” as he drops his mouth to Tokiya’s neck again, where laughter won’t disturb him.

Tokiya tugs his hair, once, yelping when Ren bites in retaliation. He yanks at Ren’s shirt, succeeding only at bunching the fabric up around Ren’s armpits, until Ren relents and they devolve into a clumsy scrabble to get out of their clothes. Ren gets hamstrung by his own pants, Tokiya ends up still wearing one sock, and it’s stupid and wonderful. Like this, it’s easy to part his knees and let Ren between them. How could he be shy, here, with Ren hot on the insides of his thighs and Ren’s hands on his chest and Ren’s hair falling into his mouth, and then all of that disappearing as Ren laughs and pushes away to go find a hair tie?

Tokiya scoots back better onto the bed. He pulls that last sock off, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. Ren ties his hair into a low ponytail and scratches his belly.

“Where were we?” he murmurs, amusement still in his voice.

Tokiya hums. “Well, I was here.”

“Mhm,” says Ren, nodding.

“And you were _here_ ,” says Tokiya, holding his hands in the general position of Ren’s shoulders.

Again, Ren says, “Mhm.” The bed dips under his weight as he crawls over Tokiya to fill the space.

Tokiya runs his hands over Ren’s shoulders, holds the back of his neck. He wraps his legs around Ren’s waist and pulls, arching as their bodies come together. “Yeah, there,” he sighs, his eyes falling shut.

Ren rocks his hips and Tokiya’s whole body moves, lighting up. “Oh, yeah. This,” he agrees against Tokiya’s cheek. “You want me to stay here?”

Staying means a slow, firm grind, Ren’s fingers digging into Tokiya’s thigh. His voice fails him, drops into a moan on, “Nn-no.”

“No?” Ren murmurs. He scrapes his teeth over the point of Tokiya’s jaw. “Mm, no, you said - say it again, what’d you want?”

Tokiya squeezes his thighs around Ren’s hips, then lets his legs fall. He lifts his hands to cradle Ren’s face, pulling his head back so he can look deeply into Ren’s eyes. With a reverent whisper, barely on the edge of hearing, he breathes, “Make love to me.”

They make it about five seconds before bursting into giggles.

Ren drops his forehead to Tokiya’s chest and shakes with laughter, hiding his suspiciously bright flush. Tokiya tugs Ren’s ponytail.

“So — ha, so romantic,” Ren manages. He lifts his head. Tokiya pushes his bangs from his face. “I mean, I didn’t even get the rose petals ready.”

Tokiya snickers. “No candles, no chocolates? How am I supposed to feel your love?”

“Oh, you’ll _feel_ it,” Ren says, squeezing Tokiya’s thigh. “Tonight, and tomorrow—“

Tokiya’s head falls back as he laughs. “Nooooo.”

Ren nibbles his neck despite his unrestrained grin. “I got a _lotta_ love, Ichi. Gonna fill you up, give you all the love in the world.”

“Oh my _God shut up_ ,” Tokiya warbles, batting blindly at Ren’s face.

With a laugh, Ren bites Tokiya’s fingers. He growls. “Hih ahh fhehh—“

Tokiya works his fingers free, raising a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Thanks. I was saying, I was thinkin’.” Ren squeezes Tokiya around the waist. “I want to last longer than the last time. I can’t tell you to stop being sexy, so it’s on me.”

Tokiya can’t help but smile. “Thank you. Did you have a plan, then?”

Ren nods, pushing himself up higher over Tokiya. “Think I better get off once, first.” He smiles a little, nuzzling their noses together. “Then, you get my full attention, you know?”

“I see your logic,” Tokiya hums. He presses one hand over Ren’s mouth and, sweetly as he knows how, says, “Spit.”

Ren barks out a laugh. He hollows his cheeks, then drags his wet tongue over Tokiya’s palm.

Tokiya drops his hand, curls it around Ren’s cock. Ren makes a rough noise, one Tokiya fights not to echo. He knows Ren, now, has felt for him in the dark and watched his hands on Ren’s body enough to know what he likes. With his other hand, he gets a grip on Ren’s ponytail and hauls him down, pressing his tongue past Ren’s lips. The right touch, a little force, the writhe of their tongues together, and Ren’s already starting to come undone.

It’s good, it’s good. The sound and feel of him, his quiet moans and the heat of his body and the weight of his cock, all of it, fuck. Tokiya knows what he means, wanting to come, because Tokiya’s about to give up on it, just wrap his legs around Ren’s hips and grind for some relief. His skin feels electric with need. He sucks hard on Ren’s tongue.

Above him, Ren makes soft, pretty noises. When he comes, it’s with a shiver. He pulls away from Tokiya’s mouth to catch his breath, his jaw slack. There’s sweat in his hair already, a sheen over the sides of his neck. His eyes open slowly, vivid blue, unfocused.

“You sure do get what you want,” he husks. His tongue traces an unsteady path over his upper lip.

Tokiya squeezes Ren’s hips with his knees. “I’m going to.”

Ren’s mouth quirks with a dazed grin. “Uh huh,” he agrees. He shifts his weight onto one arm, reaches between them to give Tokiya’s cock a friendly squeeze.

With a totally undignified gasp, Tokiya arches. “Oh. Oh, hey, not fair.”

“Mm,” Ren murmurs, dropping his forehead to the bed beside Tokiya’s head. “Don’t worry, just need a minute.” Still, his thumb passes in lazy circles along the underside of Tokiya’s cock, tracing the shape of him. It sends little shivers of promise up Tokiya’s spine.

“Ren,” Tokiya breathes, helpless. Ren’s heavy above him, unhurried. Ren takes little tastes of the curve of Tokiya’s shoulder, the base of his neck, purring.

Tokiya squirms with impatience, toes curling. “Ren, before it dries. Come on, ah — at least let me get—“

Ren pushes himself up onto his knees. He stretches, rolling out his shoulders, before looking down at Tokiya with nothing less than smug satisfaction. “I’ll take care of you. Relax, baby.”

If the tease was frustrating, at least it was contact. Now, Tokiya’s cold and untouched and so turned on it hurts. And Ren is sated and easy… and probably knows exactly what he’s doing. He wipes off the come on Tokiya’s stomach with a tissue, taking his time about it.

“Will you stay like this, Ichi? Can I keep you on your back?” he asks, smoothing his hands over Tokiya’s hips. “Want to see your face.”

Tokiya nods, taking hold of Ren’s wrists and squeezing. “Yeah.”

Ren gives him a crooked grin. He pulls out of Tokiya’s grasp and backs off to dig through the bedside table.

(They have a supply drawer, now. It’s unassuming, mundane. The condoms and lube live there, a box of wet wipes, a box of tissues. A certain faded necktie, coiled in on itself and waiting.)

Though Tokiya’s used to it by now, he still fights the urge to squirm when Ren pauses to take him in. When Ren’s given the chance, he’ll stare, trying to burn the image before him into his memory. But Ren’s always watching, whether he’s moving or not, and the weight of his gaze is warm.

And then his hands come back, trailing down the insides of Tokiya’s thighs. The bed dips where Ren’s weight settles back onto it.

Ren murmurs, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

With a sigh, Tokiya says, “It has.”

He watches Ren uncap the lube, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it. Sucks in an anticipatory breath when Ren’s slick hand drops — and lets it out in a rush when Ren chooses to massage his balls.

Ren settles in, smiling. He rests his cheek on Tokiya’s knee. “I’m glad you asked. Been thinking about it for a while.” His voice is soft.

Inanely, Tokiya says, “Nyeah?” Ren’s confident touch has him mumbling, little hitches in his breathing.

Ren strokes over him, drawing slick trails over his cock, his balls, always firm, but moving on too quickly for Tokiya to get used to it. “Mhm. How pretty you were, how bad you wanted it.” He teases a fingertip over Tokiya’s hole. “How tight. So tight, baby.”

He presses in. Tokiya hisses, then relaxes, his hands kneading at the comforter.

“Mhm,” Ren says, soft praise. His other hand strokes over Tokiya’s cock, tight and slow. “Like that. You good?”

Tokiya nods, rocking with Ren’s hand. He breathes, “Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, look at you,” Ren murmurs. “You’ve been missing this. Feeling empty, right?”

“If,” Tokiya starts. He gasps at the curl of Ren’s finger. “If you knew, if you knew you should have — should — have done something about it.”

Ren kisses Tokiya’s knee. “Sorry, sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

Tokiya’s response is an incoherent moan. He tries to grind down onto Ren’s hand, but Ren just hums and moves with him.

With slow care, Ren teases Tokiya into opening up for him. He pauses only for more lube, stroking more over Tokiya’s cock, guiding more into his ass. The building stretch burns like the first time, but now Tokiya knows what’s coming, knows how to accept it. It’s better, now, the discomfort outweighed by the anticipation and the steady pleasure of Ren stroking his cock. He’s relentless about it, pushing Tokiya right up against the edge of orgasm, but backing off before he can fall.

Tokiya pants, open-mouthed, dizzy with it. His hands fist and release, his legs tremble on either side of Ren’s waist. He rolls his hips mindlessly, seeking more. More pressure, more touch, God, just let him come—

“Baby. Ichi,” Ren soothes, squeezing the base of his cock. “Think you’re ready for me. You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Tokiya mumbles, prying his eyes open. He hadn’t realized it, just rode the stretch, but he can feel the needy pit in his stomach. “I’m ready.”

Ren is a vision above him, flushed and hard again. He withdraws his hands. Tokiya whines.

Ren smiles just a little. “Roll over for me, baby.”

“Nn,” says Tokiya, shaking his head. He wraps his legs around Ren’s waist. “Like this.”

Ren chews his lip, for a moment looking unsure. But then he nods. “Um. Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Still, he has to move away. To wipe off his hands enough to get a condom open and on, to pour more lube over his cock, to pause and shiver and get his control back.

Tokiya watches. Fuck, he’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and he’s coming back. When Ren takes him by the back of the knee and lifts, he goes with it, curling. By the time Ren’s lined up, Tokiya has his weight on his shoulders. And when Ren grits his teeth and starts to push in, Tokiya can feel it all through his legs, his back.

He breathes. He breathes, and he takes Ren’s cock, and it’s thick and hot and perfect and Tokiya’s heart is in his throat. Because, above him, Ren’s brow is creased with the control he’s exerting, his eyes locked on his cock as it sinks into Tokiya, a flush high on his cheeks and chest.

And he’s in, and Tokiya’s knees are up at Ren’s shoulders, and Ren presses his cheek to one and just breathes, staying still.

Softly, Tokiya says, “Oh. Hi.”

Ren opens one eye, a disbelieving smile growing on his face. “Hi.”

“Can you… slow?” Tokiya asks.

Ren nods. “Yeah.”

He starts to move. Slowly, slowly as he can. Tokiya feels golden-hot, like he’s throwing off sparks.

Ren’s face is tight with concentration, almost pained. He breathes through his teeth, his hands tight on Tokiya’s thighs.

Tokiya reaches for him, tries to pull him down, closer. As Ren goes, Tokiya has to bend further, and it must tighten him up because suddenly Ren feels thicker, almost too big for him.

“Ffck,” Tokiya hisses, his breath rushing out.

Ren eases up, pulls back. Tries again, lower, and this time Tokiya sees stars. His legs spread, slipping down around Ren’s biceps. Ren leans into it, rolling his hips, and Tokiya says, “There, there, yeah, there.”

“There,” Ren echoes. He maintains, just like that, fucking him slow and deep. Sweat rolls down Ren’s chest, slicks the backs of Tokiya’s thighs.

Tokiya doesn’t care, can’t care when Ren’s slowly stoking an unbearable pleasure inside him. It builds with each thrust, spreading heat down his legs and up his spine. It rises like a wave, like the rush of blood in his ears. He can’t control his voice, little moans escaping on each breath.

Ren doesn’t try to muffle him, just answers with low murmurs. “So good, baby, fuck. You’re so good.”

Tokiya is caught, pinned without leverage, forced to take what Ren gives him. He has to focus on the drag of skin on skin, the pressure of Ren filling him, every shatter-bright curl of pleasure. He’s shaking, he knows, his cock drooling over his belly, his voice rising in a helpless plea.

Ren runs his tongue over his lips, says, “Yeah, come on. Wanna feel you come on my cock, let me have it.”

“Oh, oh,” Tokiya says, and again, louder when Ren strokes him. It’s overwhelming, drawing Tokiya’s voice from him without his control on every shuddering breath.

When he tips, when he comes, the world goes white. He knows he’s moaning, almost crying, but he can’t stop, can’t do anything but let it crash through him.

And Ren, Ren’s buried in him, wincing like it hurts but not taking his eyes off Tokiya. Like he’s looking at the sun.

Tokiya starts to come back down. Ren starts to move again, little rolls of his hips, going further as Tokiya relaxes. Tokiya is heavy-limbed and lax, his eyes fluttering.

“Fuck, baby. Beautiful, darlin, gonna need that again, gonna need that forever,” Ren mumbles, thrusting harder. “Gonna come, gonna, oh.”

Tokiya can barely breathe. He can’t tell if it hurts, but he knows it’s too much. But Ren looks so desperate, so close, he can deal, he can take it. He’s oversensitive and shaking and Ren’s coming, oh, Ren’s coming. It’s so much, but as Ren presses hard against him it starts getting better, another wave of warmth. Ren’s heavy, Ren’s strong, Ren’s right there.

Ren breathes, his head bowed. Tokiya wishes he could reach for him, can only just brush his fingertips over Ren’s knees beneath him.

“You alright, love?” Ren asks, husky. “You with me?”

Tokiya nods. His mouth works around the words before his voice catches up. “Yeah. Yeah, you okay?”

“Mm,” Ren says. He starts pulling back, but stops when Tokiya hisses.

“Just. Just stay a little more. Just,” Tokiya manages. He arches when Ren presses his palm, firm and flat, over Tokiya’s cock. Oh, it’s warm. “Don’move.”

“I’ve got you,” Ren murmurs. “I’ve got you, okay, I’ll stay.”

Tokiya just tries to breathe. The vise around his heart loosens. The tension in his back, the ache in his legs start crying louder than his lethargy. Ren’s gone soft, his thighs shaking as he tries to keep up the pressure.

On a breath out, Tokiya says, “Okay.”

Ren pulls back, lets him down. Tokiya is about as helpful as a rag doll, though he tries to help Ren with the cleanup. He’s probably done more to hinder than help by the time Ren crawls over him and flops out, but they’ve gotten the worst of it.

Ren rolls onto his back and huffs out a breath. “Whoa-kay.”

Tokiya stretches, rolls onto his side and throws one arm over Ren’s chest. “Yeah?”

“Mm. We’re gonna have to be more careful in the future,” he says. He makes a face as he pulls the tie out of his hair. “Hng.”

“Did I — Are you okay?” Tokiya asks, frowning.

Ren laughs. “Yeah, no, it’s. You’re kind of a screamer, baby.”

Mortified, Tokiya stuffs his face into Ren’s armpit. “Noooo.”

“Oh, don’t hide. I like it,” Ren says, ruffling Tokiya’s sweaty hair. “We just have to make sure we, uh, are aware of it. For secrecy purposes.”

Tokiya headbutts him. “Ugh.”

Ren rolls onto his side, forcing Tokiya to look at him. “I practically bit through my tongue tryin’ to last, baby, listen to me. You make all the noise you want to, and you let me worry about whether to keep it quiet.” He grins, holding the side of Tokiya’s face. “But if you think that’s not my new favorite thing, you’ve got a surprise coming.”

Tokiya huffs, wrinkling his nose. “Ren.”

“Ichi.”

With a groan, Tokiya relents. “Fine.”

Ren grins at him, leans their foreheads together. “And now I know. That’s a thing I can get you to do.”

“Shhh.” Tokiya presses his fingertips to Ren’s mouth.

Ren nips at them, follows with his tongue. He kisses Tokiya’s palm. “Nope. No, you’re mine and I made you scream. I’m telling Masa.”

“Wh— I. Oh. Uh.” Tokiya flushes, rubbing his hands over his face. They _had_ discussed it, before, talked over him as they made him come—

Ren nuzzles in close, wrapping his arms around Tokiya. “Maybe he’ll let me teach him how. Show him what to do to you.” He drags his hands down Tokiya’s back, over his ass.

Tokiya stretches, leaning into the warmth of Ren’s hands. It’s treacherous, but he can’t help picturing Masato over him like that, Masato fucking him apart. “Only if he wants to. He hasn’t, um. He hasn’t said anything about changing his mind.”

“You don’t think so?” Ren murmurs. He digs his thumbs into the base of Tokiya’s spine. “At the very least, I think he’d like to watch. If you’d let him.”

Heat blooms on Tokiya’s cheeks and low in his stomach. “I’d. Yeah, I’d. He could.”

Ren gives him a pleased grin. He kisses Tokiya with a happy little moan, his hands sliding up Tokiya’s back to mold their bodies together.

It occurs to Tokiya that there hasn’t been nearly enough kissing this afternoon, and if Ren’s mouth is busy it can’t keep flustering him. He loops his arms around Ren’s neck and arches into him. Ren’s belly is soft against his own. Their legs tangle.

There’s no rush here, no pressure, just the sweet, hot slide of Ren’s tongue. His confidence is soothing. Ren, out of all of them, knows best how badly they want each other, knows what they like, knows how to push them without going too far. He spent months coaxing Masato into a kiss, into reciprocating. He’s still careful, even now, waiting and asking and observing.

Ren’s got Tokiya in his arms, kissing him like they’ve got nothing but time. They shift together, hip to hip, seeking pressure but not needing it. It’s just nice, easy, intimate. By the time Ren drops his mouth to Tokiya’s neck, it’s because Tokiya’s lips are going numb. Ren doesn’t seem to have the same problem.

Ren sucks a slow line down Tokiya’s neck, almost hard enough to mark. Against the base of Tokiya’s throat, he murmurs, “You still get in your own head about sex, sometimes.”

Tokiya tips his head, trying to see Ren’s face. He bumps his cheek against Ren’s forehead instead, and says, “Wh’dyou mean?”

“I mean you act like, I dunno.” Ren nuzzles Tokiya’s jaw. “Like you don’t think I’m gonna give you what you want. Or maybe like I don’t want you just as much?”

Tokiya huffs, turning his head away. “I guess I’m not used to it.”

Ren hums. He nips Tokiya’s ear and says, “You lose that, once you come. Like you remember we both love you and wanna fuck your brains out.”

Before Tokiya can answer him, or shy away, Ren kisses him. He murmurs, “It’s good. Sexy. Am I making sense?”

“I mean,” Tokiya mumbles, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that.”

Ren says, “No. No, don’t have to do anything, baby.” He cups Tokiya’s cheek in his hand. “I’m lookin’ forward to seeing more of that side of you. Confident, cuddly. It’s like how Masa all of a sudden gets funny.”

Tokiya leans into Ren’s hand. “Funny, huh?”

“He drops that aloofness. Finally lets you hear all the things he’d never say otherwise.” Ren smiles. “But when he’s really frustrated, mm-mm.”

Tokiya hums, arching to press closer to Ren. There’s heat, low in his belly, urging his cock to recover. “You mean when he gets dominant.”

With a dreamy sigh, Ren says, “Yep.”

Tokiya laughs. “Okay, yeah.”

Ren rocks their hips together and purrs, “Oh, yeah.”

“Mmn,” says Tokiya, letting his head fall back. He feels Ren’s hand curl around the back of his head, holding him there.

Ren leans in to speak against his mouth. “When he gets home, I wanna suck his dick with you. You remember doin’ that to me? Oh my _God_.”

“Yeah,” Tokiya whispers, shivering.

Ren shivers back, kneading his ass. He licks into Tokiya’s mouth. “Yeah, fuck, let’s wreck him. Take a leg each, bruise him up?”

Tokiya nods, already tasting iron. “Yeah, yes. But he needs love, gotta _romance_ him first.”

With a snicker, Ren says, “Rose petals. Chocolate.”

“Uh huh, yeah, sweep him off his feet,” Tokiya answers, a smile growing on his face. He bites his lip. “Should put a suit on, get all fancy.”

Ren laughs, bright and beautiful. “No, no, no, _just_ bowties.”

“I don’t even _have_ a bowtie,” Tokiya mourns through giggles. When Ren grinds their hips together this time it’s hot and good and it only gets better when he laughs. “Gonna have to go without.”

Delighted, Ren nips at Tokiya’s lip and kisses him. “He’ll forgive us, right?”

Tokiya nods. He pushes on Ren’s hips, trying to separate them. Ren tightens up around him like a python. Or a baby monkey, more like. Something with altogether too many grabby hands. Tokiya says, “Shower, though, come on. All five of your whiskers are coming in and you’ll give him beard burn—Agh!”

“All _five_?” Ren repeats incredulously, tightening his grip. “How dare you, I’m a full-grown man.”

Tokiya wriggles in his grip, his arms caught under Ren’s. “Well, your manly - ngh, your manly chin hairs are getting scratchy.”

Ren huffs. “Just tell me I’m too rugged for you. It’s okay. I can turn it down.” He purposefully rubs his chin over Tokiya’s shoulder. He’s not sandpaper-rough but it’s definitely uncomfortable.

Tokiya goes dramatically limp. “Oooooh, my big, brawny, manly man. Please take just a little break from fighting bears? If you let your beard grow in I’ll be _overcome_.”

“You gonna swoon?” Ren asks, grinning. “Should I fetch your fainting couch?”

“Worse.” Tokiya lifts his head. “Constant boner. Just, _schwing_ , all the time. I’ll never dance again.”

Ren howls against Tokiya’s chest. “Oh, not that, anything but that.”

“It’s your responsibility,” Tokiya says gravely. “Protect me from your manliness. Save the world.”

“Are you gonna come with me?” Ren asks. “It’s so important, I think I need some quality control.”

Tokiya smiles at him. “What a responsibility. I’m honored to accept. Now get off me.”


	14. On Geometry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masato gets home. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single person that reads this is one of the best people in the world. Your comments and kudos are so very lovely, and I adore all of you.
> 
> Headcanon: Tokiya's voice is pretty, but not exactly a powerhouse, so it's easily affected by the weather, illness, or, uh, other activities. As easy as it is to lose, though, it comes back with a little care. He always knows he's fully over a cold when he finally, FINALLY sounds like himself again.
> 
> That said, we're on the downhill - not many chapters left, but enjoy this one!  
> (As always, my Bean is a beacon of patience and good beta-ing, without which I would be adrift in a dark sea)

_“You keep listening to what she’s saying. But she’ll never tell you she’s hurting, Touma. She’ll never let you see her pain.”_

_He turns his head, closing his eyes to catch his breath. His cheeks are pale, the bags under his eyes a deep purple. The camera zooms in, the music swells._

_“Listen with your heart. Not your ears. Hear her truth.”_

“Turn it off.”

Ren pauses _Tears of the Morning._ He looks over his shoulder. “Welcome home.”

Masato sighs in the doorway. “I can’t believe you’re watching that.”

Tokiya gestures at the TV. “We told you we would. We’re skipping most of it, except your stuff.”

“You’re great,” Ren adds, smiling. “Don’t be shy about it.”

Masato smiles a little, though he tries to hide it behind his hair. “Well. You’re fast-forwarding a lot, then, aren’t you?”

“ _So much_ ,” Tokiya groans, sinking down onto the sofa.

“Did you film it all in one day?” Ren asks.

Masato crosses the room, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside Ren. “No. I believe it took four.”

Ren pulls Masato down into his lap. “So for season two they’re gonna need you for, what, twenty minutes?”

“You’re not far off,” says Masato, shifting to get more comfortable. He settles in the middle of the sofa, once Tokiya sits up better to give him more space. “I finished the makeup test today. Wardrobe has _one_ costume for me.”

Tokiya leans in, looping his arm through Masa’s. “Is it a white robe? Are you an angel?”

Masato crosses his arms. “You’ll have to wait and see, just like everyone else.”

“Aww,” Ren pouts. “Come on, just a little hint.”

Mildly, Masato says, “It’s _not_ a white robe.”

When both Tokiya and Ren make playful, frustrated noises, Masato lifts his chin. “And what have you two done with yourselves today?”

“More like, what did we do to one another,” Ren intones, walking his fingers up Masato’s thigh.

“But also, laundry,” Tokiya adds, before Masato can swat Ren’s hand. “And I worked with my voice coach—“

“Chyeah you did,” Ren coughs into his hand.

This time, it’s Tokiya that swats at Ren. “You! Oh my God.”

“Oh, what,” Masato asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ren scoots closer, slipping his arm around Masato’s waist. “Where’s my kiss hello?”

Masato’s deadpan butts up against Ren’s charming smile and caves. Masato’s expression softens, and Ren takes his cue, holding Masato’s cheek to kiss him.

Tokiya may never get tired of watching them. The way Ren coaxes the stiffness out of Masato’s jaw, how Masato relaxes and lets him in, the sweet curl of tongue over lip, the way Masato finally sighs. Ren pulls back, his eyes half-lidded, soft.

“And mine?” Tokiya asks.

Masato turns to him, a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, hello,” he murmurs, and closes his eyes before Tokiya even starts to lean in. His lips are soft and warm.

In a low voice, Ren says, “Our Tokiya sings so nicely, right? He’s got a pretty voice.”

Masato glances at Ren. “He does.”

Ren smiles, nuzzling his cheek against Masato’s. “Do you want to hear him scream, Masa? Because I got him to do it. Prettiest thing I ever heard, God, I wish you could’ve been there.”

“You — what?” Masato asks, blinking at Tokiya.

“I don’t think anyone heard me,” Tokiya mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. “I mean, we didn’t get caught.”

“These walls are pretty thick, and it was the middle of the day,” Ren soothes. “I think we’re okay.”

At Ren’s coaxing, Masato tips his head. He leans back into Ren’s arms. “I’m sure you were careful.”

Ren kisses a soft path down the side of Masato’s neck. “Mhm. Always.”

Tokiya rubs the side of his nose, looking away. His whole face and chest are hot, burning red. Masato is always so controlled, what must he think of Tokiya now?

He startles when Masato’s hand covers his own. “Tokiya?”

“I’m okay,” Tokiya says, reflexive. He looks at Masato through his lashes, finding a small smile.

“He’s shy,” says Ren. “It’s easy to get like that, you know. When you get what you want and you figure out you _really_ like it.”

Dryly, Masato says, “And you didn’t give him the courtesy of a blindfold, did you?”

Without missing a beat, Ren hums against Masato’s skin. “He wanted to watch.”

Masato squeezes Tokiya’s hand. “Am I supposed to ask what?” he asks. His half-smile is for Tokiya, equal parts reassuring and at least willing to take Ren with a grain of salt. But at the same time, he’s started to flush, and he’s not leaning away from Ren. He’s letting Ren’s arms wrap around him, letting Ren kiss his neck.

Ren looks at Tokiya through his bangs, care and mischief in equal measure. Even Tokiya feels the heat when Ren murmurs, “Wanted to see me bend him in half and fuck him nice and slow.”

Masato’s jaw works. His voice comes out low, breathy. “Ah. And how… how did that work?”

Tokiya licks his lips. Okay, he wasn’t expecting that acceptance. He wasn’t expecting Masato’s gaze to stay on him, unwavering. He turns his hand over, twining his fingers with Masato’s.

“You wanna see an encore?” Ren grins, nipping Masato’s ear. “Next time, you could watch. You could help.”

“I, oh,” Masato says, shivering. When Ren thumbs the collar of his shirt open, he swallows hard. “Ren.”

“Only if you want to,” Ren soothes. He rubs his thumb over Masa’s collarbone. “But if you want to? Baby, we’d love to have you with us. Any time.”

“But you can say you don’t want to. You can,” says Tokiya. He squeezes Masato’s hand, feels Masato squeeze back. “I won’t be upset.”

Masato’s expression is almost lost, searching Tokiya. Softly, he concedes, “I might. Want to.” He pulls on Tokiya’s hand, and Tokiya goes, leaning over him. “Would that be alright?”

Tokiya can’t keep a smile from spreading on his face. “Mm. Anything you want.”

Masato touches his forehead to Tokiya’s. “I should have known you would wear me down. I want everything to do with you,” he breathes. “I want to be here.”

Worried, Tokiya touches the side of his face. “You don’t think we’ve been cutting you out?”

“You’ve been respecting my wishes fairly well,” Masato grants. His hands freed, he palms Tokiya’s hips. “And Ren can’t keep himself from telling me everything after the fact anyway. I don’t think you’ve been sneaking around.”

Tokiya smiles a little, even as Ren makes a grumpy noise and bites Masato’s ear. “We don’t want to sneak.”

Masato elbows Ren. In apology, Ren soothes the bite with his tongue and slips his hand under the waistband of Masato’s pants. Gasping, arching, Masato tightens his grip on Tokiya. Ren’s hand moves in slow strokes.

“We maybe snuck a _little_ ,” Ren purrs. He’s got Masato’s pants open and his shirt pushed up his stomach. “See, we wanted to welcome you back home, love.”

“That’s more like… um, planning. For the future,” Tokiya says, distracted. Masato tugs at him, and he practically climbs into Masato’s lap to kiss him. He can feel Ren’s knuckles against his own thigh, the way Masato’s breath hitches against his chest. And oh, Masa’s mouth is hot and welcoming, so Tokiya sinks into him, his palms braced on Masato’s shoulders for balance.

Ren makes a soft, pleased noise. “Missed the taste of you, Masa. It’s been too long. Let us. Please, baby, let us suck you off.”

It’s Tokiya that moans at the full-body shiver that goes through Masato. But oh, he felt it all the way down to his knees, and the sharp pressure of Masa’s fingers digging in at his hips.

Masato says, “Not here. Bedroom.”

Tokiya almost falls off the sofa as he tries to get up. And, okay, yeah, he can see what Masato meant by it the minute he nearly puts his foot through the coffee table. Still, it’s not easy to just get up, to stumble together into the bedroom without banging into a wall. Or getting distracted halfway there, Masato pinning Ren to the doorway. Ren looks delighted with this turn of events, then a bit more desperate as Masato repays him for his wandering hands. It’s so much easier to get into Ren’s sweats than Masa’s jeans.

Ren makes a choked-off noise, rolling his hips. He gets hold of Masa’s biceps to ground himself. “Baby, oh. Oh.”

Tokiya wraps his arms around Masato from behind, kissing the back of his neck. “You know he talks so much because he wants you to shut him up.”

Masato hums, scratching his fingernails through the hair at the base of Ren’s cock. “But you let him run his mouth while he fucks you?”

Tokiya shivers. Those words out of Masato burn hot in his stomach. “Yes, but he, um. He can’t get too creative when he’s that busy.”

“Masa, Masa, _never_ stop talking,” Ren moans, grinning like a fool.

Masato’s mouth quirks with amusement. He thumbs the head of Ren’s cock just to make him twitch. His voice is warm, fond as he says, “You have the strangest preferences.”

Tokiya can’t help laughing. After a moment, Ren joins in. Before Masa can misinterpret it, Tokiya squeezes him and says, “I like your voice too. Bring it to bed, will you?”

“Oh,” says Masato. He lets go of Ren (to Ren’s quiet sound of loss) and lets Tokiya pull him into the bedroom. Tokiya rides the momentum, gets Masato onto the bed and out of his shirt before Ren joins them, and they have to negotiate how best to share him.

In the end, Tokiya takes Masato’s left side, and Ren his right, largely to get Ren’s bangs out of the way. Somewhere, there’s a hair band to tie his ponytail back, but none of them pauses to try and find it. Masa’s hand does a good enough job, his fingers digging into Ren’s hair and holding on to a fistful. They can’t get his shirt off him like that, can only push it up under his arms, but between the two of them it’s not going to fall back down any time soon. They’re all questing hands and greedy mouths, sucking almost-marks into Masato’s neck and chest.

Masato’s control slips, crumbles. He arches and they oblige him, moving together to get his jeans off. God, he’s lovely like this, his eyes unfocused, his grip in Ren’s hair almost cruelly tight. Masato pulls Ren up for a kiss, and Tokiya is free to drop his mouth to the inside of Masa’s thigh. Finally, finally he can make a mark, he can suck hard enough to make his cheeks hurt, to taste the bloom of blood on his tongue. Funny, how he can feel a bruise forming, how he knows what it’s like, now, to write possession with his teeth.

He pulls back. Masato’s skin is red but unbroken, tiny pinprick-marks starting to bleed together. It will be the kind of mark that lasts, tucked up high inside his thigh. Tokiya presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Beside him, Ren slips down to get a look.

“Nice work, rookie,” he drawls, grinning. His hair is pushed back from his face, his cheeks bright. “You satisfied with it?”

Masato props himself on his elbows to see, too, then flops back down, covering his face with both hands.

Tokiya can’t help but take that as a pretty good sign. He says, “Think so.”

Ren says, “Good. Y’know. There’s something I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?” Tokiya says. He’s distracted by the way Masato’s stomach tightens with his breath.

“You two thought you were all smooth, I remember that. But there’s this move you pulled that looks hot as hell, and feels _so stupid_. C’mere, c’mere,” Ren urges, smirking.

Tokiya already knows what’s coming, just huffs a laugh as he parts his lips and leans in. Ren guides Masa’s cock between their mouths, sighing when their lips meet. Ren hums soft and warm, teasing his tongue over Tokiya’s lips. Kissing around a dick is just as messy as it was before, there’s no doubt of that, but this time Tokiya has the presence of mind to look up, to watch Masato’s eyes on them. And yeah, Masato’s given them his full attention, staring down at them with an expression a little like pain.

And then he starts laughing, pressing his palms to their foreheads. “ _Stop,_ oh my God,” he manages. Once they do, he covers his face with both hands and says, “It’s so stupid!”

“You see?” Ren crows. “It’s the weirdest thing, it’s like, this should be the best moment of my life and it’s—“

“It’s just not,” Masato agrees. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Ren leans his cheek against Masato’s hip and strokes him, smoothing spit down the length of his cock. “Baby, I didn’t want you to stop. I was having a great time, I promise you.”

Masa shivers a little, rolling his hips. “I, mm. I guess we have a diff-fference of opinion.”

“Was it so bad?” Tokiya asks, kissing the inside of his knee.

“You wanna try it?” Ren counters, raising an eyebrow. His body tenses, preparing to pounce.

Tokiya holds his hands up. “No, I think I’m good!”

Ren laughs a little, nuzzling Masa’s thigh. Masato arches, murmuring an amused, “Spoilsport.”

“Got something more important, here,” Tokiya says. He knows he shouldn’t be insulted by Masato’s laughter, but now he really ought to make up for it. To the sound of Ren’s approving hum, Tokiya guides the head of Masato’s cock into his mouth. As he sucks, he can feel Masa getting harder against his tongue, and can’t help the moan that rises in his throat.

Ren puts one hand on the back of Tokiya’s head, tilting him out of the way, so Ren can bite his own bruise into Masa’s other thigh. And at that, Masato shudders, and Tokiya can feel it on his tongue and through his lips and it’s so good. Masa’s so beautiful, so hot, so—

Masato and Ren knot their fingers in Tokiya’s hair. With Ren’s fist as a guide, Masa thrusts into his mouth. It’s not too far, it’s not too hard, it’s just — just. Just perfect, fuck, Tokiya can barely breathe. He kneads at Masa’s hip, digging his nails in. His whole body goes hot, pliant.

Ren murmurs, “Told you he’d love it.”

Tokiya isn’t sure who Ren’s talking about. But Ren’s got to be right, because Masato’s shivering and gasping, and Tokiya never, never wants to stop. Masa’s so hot, setting a slow, grinding rhythm, bumping Ren’s fist against Tokiya’s nose.

A tug to the back of Tokiya’s head. Masato says, “Stop, mmn, wait. Wait.”

Tokiya pulls off, catching his breath. “Wh?”

He glances to Ren. Ren doesn’t look worried, just anticipatory. He leans his cheek on his free hand, sprawled across the bed. There’s a new bruise on the inside of Masa’s thigh, and Ren’s lips are red and wet.

“Ren,” Masato breathes. He swallows, tries again. “Ren, you’re going to break his nose.”

With a laugh, Ren says, “You want me to get out of the way.”

“No offense?” Tokiya rasps. He’s not sure if he can take it, but he’s suddenly very invested in trying.

Ren pushes Tokiya’s bangs back from his face, leaning in like he’s about to share an earth-shattering secret. He takes Tokiya’s hand and folds it into a tight fist, curling his fingers over his thumb. “Squeeze every time you think you might gag. I swear, it helps until you’re used to it.”

Tokiya raises his eyebrows. Skeptically, he says, “Really.”

“Yep. It’ll at least get you started, since the only real way to get better is practice.” Ren grins. “I’ll volunteer.”

“After,” Masato says.

A laugh bubbles up out of Tokiya. He bumps his forehead up against Ren’s shoulder, saying, “Yeah, move.”

Ren chuckles, then shifts out of the way, climbing up the bed. Masato takes the pause to pull his shirt all the way off over his head. The moment his mouth is free, Ren’s kissing him.

It gives Tokiya enough time to take a steadying breath. He squeezes his fist tight around his thumb. It couldn’t hurt.

When he takes Masa’s cock back into his mouth, he starts slow. The weight of it presses his jaw open further, sweet and hot. He works it further, waiting for his throat to fight him. It doesn’t. He squeezes harder, pulls back — oh.

No, that was Masato’s voice. Low, soft. “Oh.”

Tokiya looks up at them. Runs his tongue along the underside of Masa’s cock. Sucks, gentle, at the head.

Masato rolls his hips. Tokiya takes him. He does it again. Tokiya _takes him_.

After that, it’s almost a blur, a rhythm he finds with Masato. And Masa’s gentle with him, rocking up into his mouth in slow strokes, but he doesn’t try to hold himself back. He gets one hand into Tokiya’s hair, keeps him where he wants.

That heady, flushed feeling rises in Tokiya again. The drag of skin on his tongue and lips, the stretch burning in his jaw. The way he has to gasp for air, breathe with the rhythm. The tears in his eyes, the thundering of his pulse, and Masa almost, _almost_ making sounds.

Ren murmurs encouragement against Masato’s lips, scraping his fingernails down Masa’s belly. “You’re so good, Masa. Never thought I’d just want you to fuck my mouth. But we know now, we know. Look at him.”

Tokiya opens his eyes to meet theirs, fuck, they’re both watching. Masa’s teeth are dug into his lip. Ren’s are nibbling over the shell of Masato’s ear.

Ren says, “He fucking loves it. God, I’m jealous, _look_ at him.”

Masa’s breath picks up, harsher, his hand going tight in Tokiya’s hair. Tokiya shudders at that extra little ache, his eyes threatening to roll back.

Come hits the roof of Tokiya’s mouth. It’s gross, it’s _so_ gross, but Masa’s still fucking into his mouth and Tokiya doesn’t care. He’d do anything to keep Masa like this, overwhelmed and undone, his hips stuttering, his mouth open.

Ren purrs, “Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop.”

Tokiya doesn’t know who he’s urging, but he had no plan to, sucking Masa through his orgasm and - hell, why not - licking him clean. His mouth is already coated, and it makes Masa shake and shake and moan, so soft, so pretty Tokiya’s cock hurts, fuck, he’s so hard he’s rubbing against the bed.

Another tug to his hair, sharper this time, pulling him off. Tokiya licks his lips. Ren mirrors him. Masato just sags, catching his breath.

Ren, breathless like he’d done all the work, says, “Okay, idea.”

“Yeah?” Tokiya croaks. His voice is completely wrecked, oh.

“I mean, just an idea, but hear me out,” Ren breathes, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “Next time I fuck you, baby, d’you want Masato on the other side? Both of us. At the same time.”

Tokiya swallows hard. “Masa, you okay with that?”

“I… could be,” Masato says. He looks up at the ceiling, rubbing his palm over his mouth. His other hand, the one on Tokiya’s head, starts petting gently through his hair. “If you wanted.”

Tokiya shivers. “I. Yes. I want. I want that. And so does Ren.”

Ren grins a little. “Course I do, baby. But you’re going slow with me. Real, _real_ slow.”

With a wince, Tokiya says, “I could step it up.”

Masato ruffles his hair. “You could.”

In surprise, Tokiya laughs. “I will.”

“Later,” Ren says, pushing himself down the bed and rolling Tokiya onto his back. “I am _not_ taking slow right now.”

They almost tumble off the foot of the bed, and scramble back up to the sound of Masato failing to stifle his laughter. And Ren wasn’t lying about being jealous, maybe, because he shoves Tokiya’s waistband out of the way and gets his mouth on Tokiya’s cock as soon as they’re stable. Tokiya gasps at the sudden slick heat, his hips jerking.

“Ren, ‘mere,” he moans, wanting Ren’s weight, his heat.

But instead of Ren climbing over him, Ren turns so his hips are over Tokiya’s head. Oh — oh, okay, that’s good, too. That’s good.

Tokiya arches, his hips rolling mindlessly into Ren’s perfect mouth. Somehow he manages to paw Ren’s pants down, to pull him close enough to suck the head of Ren’s cock past his lips. Ren’s hot and needy, his low moan vibrating down the length of Tokiya’s cock.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Tokiya kneads at the backs of Ren’s thighs and works his tongue and comes like a shot. Tokiya cries out, partly out of surprise, but after such a long wait he’s easy to overwhelm. Ren barely seems to notice, doesn’t lose the rhythm of his shallow thrusts. But he licks Tokiya clean, sucking kisses down the length of his softening cock, then bites hard on the inside of his thigh.

Tokiya curls up, makes it easier. He can feel the bloom of dull, hot pain under Ren’s teeth. He tries to press his skin harder against Ren’s teeth, flicks his tongue over Ren’s cock to make him bite harder, _yes_ , harder, and they both shudder.

Idly, as if commenting on the weather, Masato says, “Well. That looks fun.”

Tokiya finds the wherewithal to form his hand into a thumbs-up. Ren pulls his mouth away from Tokiya’s thigh to mumble something breathy and incoherent. It ends with “Yeah, oh. Yeah.”

And then Ren _grinds_ down, spreading his knees for leverage, and pumps deep, so deep Tokiya can’t breathe, fucking down like he’s trying to feel every inch of Tokiya’s tongue on his dick, and every part of Tokiya zeroes in on his mouth and his throat and Ren, fuck, Ren comes as he pulls back so it hits Tokiya’s tongue. And then he rocks again, the last few aftershocks, and Tokiya’s either got to swallow or drool, because not taking him isn’t an option. And Tokiya’s so hot, so pinned, so gorgeously fucked.

When Ren finally rolls off of him, Tokiya closes his eyes. He just kicks his stupid pants the rest of the way off, and then gives up. There’s nothing left of him, nothing but exhaustion.

Masato says, “Ah. Wow.”

Ren laughs softly. “Uh huh. It’s, mm. ’S gonna take some advanced geometry but I bet we can get all of us in on that. Just, like. Triangles.”

“Shut up,” Tokiya croaks. His voice is even worse, now, raspy and cracked. His jaw aches to holy hell, tender at the hinges by his ears. And come. Is still. Disgusting.

But he doesn’t care. He’s blissed out, floaty and warm. He shivers when Ren pulls his legs apart by one knee to check the bruise he made.

“You know what I mean, though,” Ren persists. “Shouldn’t leave anybody outta _that_ party.” And then, lighter, amused, “Dick suckin’ pa-arty.”

Tokiya wheezes out a laugh. “Shut u-up.”

Masato hums. “If we lay on our sides, I think?”

“Triangles,” Ren agrees, laying back again. He wriggles his sweats back up over his hips, snapping the waistband.

Tokiya stretches his arms over his head, arching into the warm lethargy working its way up over him. He’d like to contribute to this vital discourse, but his face is tired and his jaw hurts and he’s all loose-limbed and sleepy.

Ren leans his cheek against Tokiya’s knee. Masato sits up, leaning his weight on his elbows. He’s contented here, wearing his nakedness without shame. For a moment, he just takes them in.

With the quiet solemnity to which Masa assigns all his decisions, he agrees.

“Yes. Triangles.”

Tokiya barks out a laugh.

“I think I owe you some tea,” Masato says, his eyebrows raised. “You’re hoarse.”

“Tea’s good,” Tokiya rasps.

Ren says, “You’ll be fine by morning.” He leans over Tokiya to nuzzle against his stomach. “It’s like when you get sick.”

Masato hums. “Ah, right. Your voice goes first, doesn’t it?”

Tokiya blinks at the both of them, warmed by the fact that they notice. “Well. Yes.”

“I’ll make it. In a moment,” Masato says. He stretches, yawning. “With the fancy honey.”

“Only th’best,” Ren agrees. He rubs his cheek against Tokiya’s belly, kisses idly at whatever skin he can reach.

Masato sighs. He says, “I’ve missed having time for this. I feel… I’m missing you.”

Ren sits up between them. The extra fabric of his shirt pools in his lap. He murmurs, “We gotta schedule ourselves some time together. Because I know what you mean.” He smiles a little, ruffling Tokiya’s bangs. “And Ichi was getting downright grumpy.”

To his credit, Masato only laughs a little bit. “Well. We can try to find a few free hours, here and there.”

“Or give up on ever sleeping,” Ren offers, smiling wryly.

Tokiya shifts enough to put his head in Ren’s lap. He presses his nose to Ren’s hip, takes a deep breath of the smell of fabric softener and sweat. He rasps, “Rather be awake.”

“Romantic,” Masato hums. Ren rubs his thumb down the side of Tokiya’s neck. “Impractical. But still, worth the effort of trying.”

“Sometimes I love you so much my heart hurts,” Tokiya mumbles. “The way you talk about us.”

Ren chuckles. “Aw, Ichi.”

Masato kisses Tokiya’s forehead before pushing himself to his feet, stepping into his pants. “I love you too, darling.”

It’s harder than he anticipated, sitting up to dress and follow Masa to the kitchen. Somehow, he claws his way free of the soft, warm bed and Ren’s soft, warm touch, padding sleepily through the apartment to lean himself up against the counter to watch Masato make tea.

He sighs as Ren molds himself to his back, looping his arms around Tokiya’s waist. When there’s nothing left but waiting for the water to boil, Tokiya pulls Masato to him and nuzzles his neck.

“You always seem to get the worst of it,” Masato says, smoothing his palms down Tokiya’s arms.

“The best, you mean,” Tokiya counters, smiling a little. The curve where Masa’s neck meets his shoulder smells so nice, just warm skin.

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

After a pause, Masato sighs, capitulating. “Alright.”

“I’m tough,” Tokiya husks.

Ren squeezes his hips. “Mhm.”

The kettle whistles. Masa lets go, goes to pour hot water into the pot. Ren presses his fingertips to the skin just ahead of Tokiya’s ears and starts rubbing little circles. Tokiya melts back into him.

“Someone else’s turn next, though,” he mumbles.

“Ooh, ooh, me,” says Ren, just to make him laugh.

“Obviously,” Masato says, fetching the honey from the pantry.

(And, to digress, what a relief it is to not have to hide his good supplies from a bottomless pit of a roommate. On their current diets, they’re not permitted much sugar anyway, but Ren and Masato also actually seem to have self-control when it comes to sweets. Gone are the days of finding Otoya with a guilty mouthful!)

Ren laughs warmly. “Obviously,” he purrs. He drags his thumbs hard down the sides of Tokiya’s neck. He didn’t know there was tension there, only feels it release in a hot bloom all the way down to his shoulders. He leans harder on Ren with a sigh.

“Are you alright?” Masato asks quietly.

Tokiya gets his eyes open to a contented half-mast. “Mmhm,” he says, laying his head back on Ren’s shoulder.

“Good hands, right?” Ren’s tone borders on insufferably smug, but Tokiya’s much too relaxed to mind it. “He’s fine.”

Masato gives them a dubious once-over. Then he sighs. “Just go sit on the sofa, alright? I’ll be out in a moment.”

“We’re always getting kicked outta the kitchen,” Ren grouses, pulling Tokiya along. They flop onto the sofa together — and start to snicker.

Without even a word, Tokiya leans forward, lifts the remote, and presses ‘play’ on _Tears of the Morning_.


	15. Masato Makes a Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masato tries a thing or two, and discovers how he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic about communication, yep.
> 
> Happy it's-still-Valentine's-Day-somewhere! Thanks as always to my Bean, and yay for not waiting a month between updates????

_Tears_ is a thousand times more fun to watch with Masato on the couch. It’s not so much that Masato has behind-the-scenes knowledge that they care about, though he does at one point digress about a lovely sort of coffee they had at the crafts table. It’s that, while Ren and Tokiya poked a bit of fun at the parts of the drama Masato wasn’t in, Masa is completely and totally merciless.

After every clichéd line, he mutters, “He thought of that himself,” or “I wonder what will happen _now_.”

As idols, they’re used to a certain level of schmaltz and sap. They’re comfortable with tropes, and with doing the same thing seven hundred times on stage, and usually Masato is one of the most patient of them (Cecil beats him, if only because everything for him is still so new, and he approaches every well-worn retread with wide-eyed wonder.)

But, apparently, cuddled up on the sofa, his feet tucked under Ren’s thigh and his head resting on Tokiya’s shoulder, Masa’s filter evaporates. Tokiya sips his tea and tries very hard not to choke on it when he laughs. (The tea is perfect, warm and honeyed, soothing his throat and warming him from the inside, a physical rush to match the sweetness in his chest.)

Ren still fast-forwards through a lot of it, but he pauses for moments of great emotion. Whenever someone cries, or there’s an intense two-person dialogue, they drop back to normal speed. Ren has a knack for finding the right places that make them all groan.

They could probably stay up too late, the three of them muscling through drowsiness. But at the first yawn Ren gives up, Masato seizes the opportunity to stop the playback and suggest they go to bed. He can pull Ren along by his hand, and Tokiya follows after, turning off lights, setting his mug in the sink.

The little rituals of getting ready for bed play out like a dance they know by heart, trading places in front of the mirror, mouths full of toothpaste foam. Masato leans toward Tokiya and rubs in a bit of moisturizer he’d missed at the edge of his nose. They skin out of their clothes, plug in their phones, set the alarm. Ren adjusts the pillows and fixes the lay of the bedsheets. Tokiya turns off the light, finds his way to them in the dark.

There’s a moment that comes every night when they’re finally together. A collective, long sigh, a settling of body into body into body, arms and legs and hips and shoulders all finding the right configurations. When they’re knotted together they all breathe out, dropping the tension from the day.

This time, Ren’s in the middle, draped over Masato with Tokiya at his back. It gives Tokiya the broad plane of his shoulders to press idle kisses against. But, better, Ren’s in the perfect position to be groped. The curve of his ass fits perfectly in Tokiya’s lap, especially if he’s got one leg thrown over Masato.

Sometimes, it’s just nice to rub a butt.

From the happy little hum coming out of Ren, he’s in agreement. Tokiya nuzzles between Ren’s shoulders and gets a good handful. Ren arches just a little into his hand, huffing out a laugh.

“Hm?” says Masa, sleepy and warm.

“Ichi’s gettin’ grabby,” Ren mumbles, a grin in his voice.

Tokiya squeezes. “Can you blame me?”

“No, ’s pretty great, but can you — higher! That tickles, baby.” He smacks Tokiya’s hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Tokiya, adjusting. He rubs little circles with his palm, soothing.

Masa’s hand joins him, and he laughs. “See?”

“It’s very nice,” says Masato, in the false patronizing tone of a man pretending not to enjoy himself. “Now, can we sleep?”

“Mmm,” says Ren. “I’m feelin’ real loved.”

Tokiya sighs, kissing the back of Ren’s neck. “Shh, g’night.”

“Night, baby.”

“I was talking to your butt.”

“Good _night_.”

 

* * *

 

Tokiya is… not noticeably hoarse in the morning, but he can feel the strain on his voice. It doesn’t hurt, but the highest parts of his register aren’t in easy reach, even once he’s warmed up. Ah, so there’s the consequence.

It’s not as much of an issue as it could be, as it first rears its ugly head during Tokiya’s morning shower. They made it through their workout with Sato, and breakfast, without incident. And at least Ren and Masato have gone, each of them with morning appointments, so they can’t hear the way he creaks in the steam.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. _Damn._

“Come in?”

“Ah, Tokiya,” says Masa. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“No, no. I thought you had somewhere to be?” he asks.

Masato hums. “It was cancelled. Seems a bad rockslide made the only road to set impassable for the day.”

“Whoa. Is anyone hurt?” Tokiya asks, poking his head out from behind the curtain. Masa’s already changed back into soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt - one of Ren’s, from the depth of the V-neck.

Masato gives him a small smile. “Not to my knowledge, but it’s torn up the road pretty badly. I have the feeling the producers won’t be happy with the setback.”

“And your ghost had to be there?” Tokiya asks, laughing.

Masato laughs with him. “No, I was only going to take a few pictures to make it look as though I’d been there in the past. The weather’s so poor, though, I doubt I’ll be going up until we have a few hours of sun together.”

Tokiya hums, ducking back under the spray. “What a lot of work for a dead man. Do you have the morning off, then?”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

Tokiya shuts the water off, shaking out his hair. “Sounds nice.”

He pushes the curtain out of the way, and smiles when Masato hands him a towel. Masa, however, looks a little unsure. “Ah. Do you have a little time to spend with me, then?”

Tokiya wraps the towel around himself and starts drying off. “Of course.”

“I had something I wanted to ask you.”

Tokiya pauses halfway through drying one of his legs to turn toward Masa. “Sure, anything,” he says.

Masato smiles a little, though it’s hampered by the pull of his teeth in his lip. “I certainly have you in an awkward position, don’t I?”

With a one-shouldered shrug, Tokiya tries to be brisk about drying himself. When he straightens up again, squeezing water from his hair, he says, “I don’t mind.”

Masato moves in to help him, taking the towel from around his shoulders and rubbing at his hair. “I’ve just. I’ve been thinking I’ve been a little like a child.”

“Pardon?” Tokiya peeks at him from under the towel.

“How do I know whether or not I… like something, unless I’ve tried it?” Masa ventures. His eyes slide from the floor up to Tokiya’s face. “Do you know what I mean?”

Before Tokiya can answer him properly, Masato takes the towel from his shoulders and hangs it. The line of his back is loose, not overly tense, but his posture is perfect. That’s a giveaway.

“Masa, have we… made you feel pressured?”

Masato’s shoulders tense up. “No. No, not at all.”

“Then—“

Masa turns, and already there’s a blush on his cheeks. “I mean it. I’m just. I don’t know if curious is the right word, but I am.” He takes a step forward, and then another, putting his hands on Tokiya’s chest. He draws his palms slowly down, down, until he reaches Tokiya’s hips. “Would you let me touch you? If… if that’s alright.”

Tokiya swallows, both thrilled and touched by the prospect. His desire rises, choking him off, so all he can do is nod. His hands come up to cup Masa’s shoulders, pull him closer.

Masato sucks a drop of water from the curve of Tokiya’s neck. The warmth of his lips makes Tokiya shiver, raises goosebumps on his arms. But still, he’s waiting for an answer.

Tokiya’s voice goes thin and breathy. “I. Ah, how - how could I say no?”

He feels Masato smile against his skin. “Tell me what to do?”

Tokiya swallows again. Talking is so _difficult_ when his brain is on fire with want. His cock is already responding with great enthusiasm, so that when Masa’s leg slips between his, soft cotton pants against bare skin, he has to gasp. “Ff—okay.”

“Should I?” Masato asks, barely tracing his fingertips down the length of Tokiya’s cock.

Tokiya kneads at Masato’s shoulders, nodding, his tongue caught between his lips. “Mmhm.” And then, as Masa strokes over him, gentle and dry and teasing, “Come _on_.”

Masa nips his neck. “What do I do?”

Oh, _this_ is how he wants to play it. Tokiya shivers. He licks his lips. “Get - get lube.”

“It’s in the bedroom?” Masa asks, dragging his thumb so Tokiya chokes on his confirmation. The flash of his nervous smile is a thrill that makes it hard for Tokiya to catch his breath in the moment he gets alone.

He shakes himself. Alright, okay, he’s got this. He rolls out his shoulders, shaking the giddiness out of his hands. And turns, bracing his palms on the bathroom sink. It will be easiest standing, he thinks, and the bathroom is warm already, and —

— and he can. He can see himself in the mirror, as the steam clears.

This might be a mistake.

But Masa is back, and Tokiya realizes almost at the same moment that he’ll also be able to watch. Oh, that. That’s too great of a temptation to resist.

“Tokiya?”

“It’ll be easier this way,” he says, smiling a little wryly. “For both of us.”

Masato takes a breath, lets it out slow. Says, “Okay.”

“Then, um. When you’re ready,” Tokiya breathes. He laughs out of self-consciousness, adds, “Start with one. Go slow.”

Masa’s fingertips land first on Tokiya’s back, tracing down the path of his spine. They meander, timid. Tokiya forces himself to breathe slowly, to wait. He’s fully prepared for Masato to change his mind, he has to be. He’s already practicing reassurance in his head, ready to make sure Masa knows he’s not disappointed, he’s not upset when Masa wants to stop.

There’s the sound of the cap opening. Tokiya watches Masa’s face in the mirror, nerves and determination in the set of his jaw. What he wouldn’t give to hear his thoughts.

And then, cold lube - Tokiya jolts and Masa immediately pulls his hand back.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s - warm your hands up a little, okay?” Tokiya soothes, glancing over his shoulder. “Just a surprise.”

“Ah. I’m sorry,” Masato says, rubbing his fingers together. “I. You even did that, before.”

Tokiya snorts. “You were distracted,” he says charitably, dropping his head to grin at the stopper in the sink. One loose, dark hair is stuck to the enamel. He focuses on the shape of it while Masato gears himself up again, just to keep his cool.

“I’m going to try again,” says Masato, and Tokiya fights not to laugh at the phrasing. He texts like a businessman, and fucks like one too. This time, thankfully, the lube is warm enough that Tokiya can appreciate the gentleness of Masa’s touch. And gentle it is, as Masa draws the lightest little circles over his hole.

Tokiya chews the side of his tongue. He wants to squirm away from the tickle. “Ah. More, um. Pressure.” And, when Masa tries it, he says, “Yes, there. It was too light before, this is okay.”

“I… can’t believe that this is at all pleasant.”

Tokiya laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. He meets the eyes of Masato’s reflection. “It can be. But it’s definitely. It’s, um.”

Masato raises an eyebrow. “Foreplay?”

“Yeah.” Tokiya bends a little more, spreads his feet further apart. “When you’re ready. Go as slow as you want, as long as you’ve got it really wet. It won’t hurt me.”

For a long moment, Masato stares him down. Tokiya keeps his eyes on Masa’s reflection, keeps his expression calm. The longer this goes on, the more he wants it, God, wants Masato’s long, deft fingers inside him, but this is Masa’s call, it’s up to _him_ how far he goes.

Still, he must betray himself a little when Masa starts to press into him, his breath hitching. He swallows and nods. “There. You okay?”

“Are you really—?” Masato begins to ask, then stops himself. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

Tokiya smiles a little. “Mm, I’m good. Do you, ah. Want to keep going?”

“Should I move?” Masato asks by way of answering him. He looks down, breaking eye contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“No, just.” Tokiya chews his lip. “Turn your hand so, uh, so your palm is toward the floor? —Yeah, okay.” He resists the urge to laugh when Masa blinks in surprise at his reaction. “Yes, I can tell! Okay. Now, this part’s just kind of. Well. It’s for me.”

“That _is_ the point,” Masato says, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

Tokiya’s smile quirks. “Then, curl your finger and rub. You’ll, um, yes, like that, you’ll know when yhff—“ And there it is, the instant rush of heat that makes Tokiya’s knees weak. It’s bright and perfect and brief. Masato’s brows draw together in concentration, and then _there it is again oh —_

Tokiya arches, moaning into his hand. Masato’s surprise melts quickly into curiosity, and, as in everything he attempts, he becomes quickly adept at being the world’s most torturous tease. With just one finger, he tests, and strokes, and prods, watching Tokiya’s face for every reaction. And though it’s not long before Tokiya is a shivering mess, he’s nowhere near coming. His cock, hard and aching, has been totally ignored, but Tokiya can’t find the energy to care. He’s delighted to be Masa’s test subject, holding tight to the countertop. He doesn’t even try to guide him, doesn’t try to force his hand. If his back arches a little harder, if he spreads his legs a little more, it’s to make it easier for Masa to try whatever he wants.

“And do… do you want more?”

When Masa asks, his voice is so soft, Tokiya almost doesn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.

He has to concentrate to speak, forces his thick tongue to move. “Do you want to?”

Masa considers, but his movements don’t stop. Tokiya tries to watch him in the mirror, but he keeps losing focus, going warm and hazy.

“I think… I’m not sure.” Masa’s voice is hesitant.

Tokiya drops his head to the cold counter and takes a couple quick breaths for control. “If — hf, if you want to talk you have to stop doing - nn _that_.”

“No.” Masato’s tone gains a little more confidence. “I. Hm.”

Another merciless curl, coupled with the cold pressure of a second finger and fresh lube and - stars spark in the corners of Tokiya’s vision from how hard he’s pressed his forehead to the counter. “Masa—“

“It’s a curious thing,” Masato says softly. “I’m not… enjoying myself, particularly, except that I very much like your reactions. And no, I don’t want to stop yet, though you’re sweet for trying to ask.” His fingers spread. Tokiya sucks in a gasp through his teeth. There’s a cold pang of guilt in his gut, but Masato keeps pressing at him, stretching him. “And. I keep feeling as though I should try it, given how enjoyable the two of you seem to find it. If you’ll let me?”

Finally, finally Masato pauses, and Tokiya can catch his breath. He lifts his head, trying to meet the eyes of Masato’s reflection in the mirror. Masa looks pensive, his teeth set into his lip, his brows drawn down.

“I don’t want you to - to do anything you think you _have_ to,” Tokiya says, voice shaking, holding on to his calm with his fingernails. “Do what you want.”

“But what about you?” Masato asks. There’s a telltale quirk at the corner of his mouth, a little twitch downward, betraying him.

Tokiya thinks for a moment. God, if someone had told him _a month ago_ he’d be coaching Masa through consent with two fingers in his ass, he’d think it was impossible. But here he is, starting to tense up from the cold of being naked and sober. He licks his lips.

“Okay. I. I will only speak for myself, but. But like, ninety percent of what makes sex fun, for me, is that everyone’s into it. I couldn’t have done any - _any_ of this if you and Ren hadn’t been, um. Been equally. Invested.”

He rubs one hand over his face. “So. Yes, if you _want_ to fuck me, go ahead, please do, but. I don’t need it, okay? And I really don’t need it if you’re gonna be miserable.”

“Miserable might be an exaggeration,” Masato says softly.

Tokiya huffs a laugh. “You’re fingering me and you’re giving me hell about word choice?”

“Perspective,” Masato agrees, rubbing slow, warm circles on Tokiya’s back with his free hand.

Tokiya wants him to move again, to give him pressure, friction, anything. But he doesn’t move, just flexes his fingers and says, “Tell me what you want.”

“You… you really are so patient,” Masato says softly. “I want to reward your patience. And I want to see your face.”

As if drawn on strings, Tokiya lifts his head to watch Masa’s face in the mirror. “Yeah?”

Masato pulls his fingers out. Tokiya doesn’t hiss at the loss. He’s a little more concerned with the way Masa turns his own hand over like it’s foreign to him, curling and straightening his fingers. Is that disgust on his face, or fear, or—

Masato uncaps the lube one-handed, pouring a generous trail over his fingers. He rubs his thumb through the slick before returning his hand, and says, “That’s better.”

Tokiya’s breath is caught in his throat. He catches sight of himself, his own sudden flush and wide eyes, the useless rock of his tongue in his mouth. And behind him, Masato looking calm and thoughtful, his earlier hesitance forgotten. It’s as much Masa’s control as the pressure of his fingertips that makes Tokiya shudder.

“What - what are you,” he stutters on a gasp. Masa moves with purpose, clearly aiming to make him weak-kneed again, and oh, he’s succeeding. Tokiya can barely keep his eyes open, fighting to focus on Masa’s reflection.

And Masato is smiling, a real smile, heat rising in his cheeks. “Do you need more than two? Before I fuck you, I mean.”

“No,” Tokiya breathes like it’s been punched out of him. Any other words are lost to a moan when Masa spreads his fingers and drags down, hard, as he pulls out.

With his dry hand, Masa pulls a condom from his pants pocket.

“You — you,” Tokiya mumbles, his heart spiking. He turns from the sink, grabs Masa by the collar and kisses him dizzy. “Were you messing with me?” he asks against Masa’s mouth, shoving his shirt up over his belly.

Masato crowds him against the counter, grinding against him, and oh he’s naked under those pants, and hard and hot and Tokiya almost sobs with the friction. Low, Masato says, “No. I thought. I thought I had better be prepared, in case I—“ The rest is muffled by Tokiya’s desperate mouth.

They fumble together, getting Masa free of his shirt, his pants. Masa leaves sticky trails of lube on Tokiya’s hip, licks into his mouth, asks, “How do you want it?”

Tokiya just breathes, “Yes, _yes_ ,” because he’s busy getting the condom open for Masa, gripping Masa’s cock by the base and rolling the condom down over him. Masato hisses through his teeth, his hands going tight on Tokiya’s hips.

It’s a sweet mirroring, he’s sure, trading Ren for Masa, the kitchen for the bathroom. They are more alike than they realize, sometimes. But it’s good, gives him confidence to turn around, to brace his palms on the bathroom counter and say, “Like this.”

It takes another moment for Masato to get his breath back. His reflection looks dazed, overwhelmed. But he’s still present, still with Tokiya, his pale skin gone so, so red down his neck and chest.

His fingers return first, fresh lube, another exploratory stretch. Tokiya groans, dropping his head. “I’m ready, I’m fine. Please.”

“Oh. Oh,” Masato says softly, licking his lips. His fingers withdraw, replaced with his blunt, slick cock. He pushes in so slowly, so achingly slowly, Tokiya opens up with barely a sigh. He’s been ready so long, it’s like Masa belongs inside him.

Stunned, soft, Masato says, “You are… so warm. Hot. And.” His hands find purchase on Tokiya’s hips, shaky, light, like he’s breakable. “And I. Oh.”

Tokiya shudders. He wants to be patient, wants to, but Masa’s burning him up from the inside, he’s so full. “Please. Please, move. Hard as you want to, just do _something_.”

The first experimental movement isn’t slow or shallow, it’s Masato drawing almost all the way out of him so he can feel the ridge of his cockhead, before pressing right back in. Tokiya’s answering moan rings as it echoes over the tile, low and broken. He can almost taste Masa in the back of his throat, locks his elbows and knees to stay just in that position.

Masato does it again. And again. It feels like his cock goes on for _miles_ , sparking up against every sensitive spot he’s got. He tries tightening up to feel it better (fuck, it’s the perfect burn, why didn’t he do this before), and Masa gasps, his forehead dropping to the middle of Tokiya’s back.

Oh, _oh_ — “Ohfuck,” Tokiya moans, “oh _fuck_ ,” and he can’t stand it anymore, his dick’s going to fall off if he doesn’t touch it, and as soon as he does he starts to shake. He’s coming, muffling himself against his forearm, and Masato makes the softest, softest sounds of need against his shoulder.

“Don’stop,” Tokiya gasps, trying to reassure him. He can barely form words, but he knows Masa’s conscientious. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Masa tried to leave just yet.

Whether or not Masato fully believes him, he doesn’t stop, keeping up those long, punishing strokes, turning Tokiya slowly inside-out. Tokiya squeezes the base of his cock in time, holding on to the aftershocks of his orgasm as long as he can, drawing it out while Masa fucks him. He can feel Masa’s hair brush against his back, the warm puffs of his breath. The bruise-tight grip Masa is digging into his hips. The way he’s just barely got purchase on the warm tile floor, his weight braced over the counter, his head dropping dangerously close to the faucet in the sink.

Masato grabs his hair, pulls him back, maybe to protect him, maybe to hold him still. Maybe to force him to look at the mirror, to watch his own face (flushed, lax, mouth hanging open, pliant) and past it, Masa’s. His jaw is set tight, air hissing between his teeth, his eyebrows drawing up, searching, his eyes locked on Tokiya’s face. Tokiya’s caught between a cold, aching shame at how wanton he looks, and an answering spike of near-painful arousal at being _seen_.

God, Masa could fuck him forever and he’d be alright. There’s nothing more honest, nothing more real, and it aches and it aches and - and Masa’s coming, almost silent but for the hitch in his breath and the pain of Masa’s nails digging in at Tokiya’s hip. Masato’s always so quiet, but his body doesn’t lie.

“Yeah, there,” Tokiya says, mindless, as he feels Masato slow, stop. But then, he can’t hide the wince when Masa pulls out. “Hn.”

“Oh, did I? Are you alright?” Masato asks, his grip on Tokiya’s hair loosening.

Tokiya nods. “Mm. Yes, I’m fine.” He laughs wryly. “It’s, actually the worst part is the end.”

He pushes himself upright, forces wobbly legs to support his weight. Behind him, Masato says, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Tokiya turns enough to grab a handful of toilet paper. He came all over the cabinet under the bathroom sink and it’s starting to stick. It’s so careless, but in the moment he hadn’t thought of the consequences.

Another bundle of paper hits the trash can after Tokiya’s. When he turns to face Masa, he finds Masato already leaning into the shower to turn the water on. He’s holding one hand - the slick one, still shiny with lube - away from himself, out of the way.

“Masa?”

“Hm?” Masato turns to him, lets Tokiya brush his hair from his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. It was nothing, really.” Tokiya watches his expression, not sure what he’s looking to find. “And you? Are you alright?”

Masato is quiet for a moment, but he leans into Tokiya’s hand. “I’m alright. I think I’m deciding how I feel.” At Tokiya’s raised eyebrows, he says, “No, Tokiya, you. You were. Just.”

Masa stops, then, shutting his mouth tight. He takes a breath. Then he grabs Tokiya around the back of the neck and hauls him in for a kiss, desperate and too-hard, tongue and teeth. He makes a soft sound low in his throat, kneading the back of Tokiya’s neck. Tokiya holds the side of his face, tries to ease him up into something gentler.

“Masa,” he breathes when they part. “Masa, talk to me.”

Masato presses their foreheads together. “You are amazing. And I. I love you.”

It clicks. Tokiya nuzzles Masato’s nose. “You didn’t like it. Right?”

Masa winces. “Well, I. I.”

Tokiya kisses him, gentle, soft. There’s a brief, irrational flare of rejection, but Tokiya squashes it hard. No, this wasn’t about him. “Come on, into the shower. Let’s clean off.”

He shepherds Masato under the water, then leans his shoulder against the wall out of the spray. He could use a rinse, but Masa’s coated in sweat and needs it more. He gets the soap, offers it like an olive branch.

“It’s not my preference,” Masato says finally, his voice so quiet the shower almost drowns it out. He accepts the bottle, starts cleaning up. He won’t look at Tokiya.

Tokiya swallows. “That’s okay. But I… wish you had stopped, when you’d changed your mind.”

“I.” Masato pauses, turns his back on Tokiya to get his head under the water. Tokiya knows the tactic, taking time to think.

Tokiya lets him, though he wants nothing more than to embrace him, lean on him, sink to his knees and give himself a rest. His legs are jelly, his stomach in knots. He’s refusing to let the pit grow in his heart, refusing to feel cold, but it’s. It’s hard, when he got so much out of it, and Masato wasn’t with him. Was he a chore? An obligation?

Masato says, “Please don’t blame yourself for how I’ve acted.”

Tokiya blinks up at him. At some point, Masato turned back, water running in rivulets down his face, over his neck.

“Everything I did… was because I wanted to. Remember that, alright?”

Tokiya tries to smile, he really does. “Okay.”

Masato searches his face, then reaches for him. He pulls Tokiya into his arms, kisses his forehead. “Tokiya. Tokiya, please. I wanted to. God, you were — you. I’d do anything for you, Tokiya, and I. I wanted to give that to you.”

Tokiya huffs water out of his mouth, leaning his cheek against Masa’s shoulder. He swallows. “Was there any part of that you liked? Will you tell me?”

“I can,” Masato agrees. He shifts so the spray of the shower runs over them both, and Tokiya has to lift his head to avoid getting a face-full. “Ha, sorry. Here, turn.”

“Turn?” Tokiya repeats. He doesn’t get it, not until Masa turns them both to put Tokiya’s back into the spray. But Masa’s still holding him, his hands firm on Tokiya’s back.

“There. I realize, I’ve made you feel unwanted. That’s the last thing I want,” Masa says, starting to massage at the base of his spine. His hands, here, are sure. “Because I want you. That has not, and will not change.”

Tokiya sighs, trying not to feel childish. “I’m alright, Masa.”

Masato shuts him up with a kiss, gentler, warmer than before. “I liked everything about _you_. From your sounds, and the expression on your face, to the way your body moved.” He leans Tokiya up against himself, spreading his fingers over Tokiya’s ass. It’s a possessive grip, a pleasant one, and it’s the first thing that starts convincing Tokiya that Masa’s serious.

The second thing is Masa holding him tight and slipping his fingers down to tease again at Tokiya’s hole. He’s tender, still sensitive, but the hot water and the pressure of Masato’s fingertips sends a shiver up his spine so hard he nearly bites his tongue.

“I liked this,” Masato continues, circling with his fingertips. “Touching you, even putting my fingers inside you, I liked that.” He presses, just a little, just enough.

Tokiya’s hands clench tight, a surprised cry - “Masa!” - escaping his throat.

“Is this alright?” he asks, his mouth close enough that Tokiya can feel the rush of air on his consonants. “Has it been long enough? Could I make you come?”

The shiver that goes through him presses him closer to Masa. And his body _wants_ to respond, wants to please Masato, wants to give in. So he says, “You can try,” and muffles a moan when Masato strokes over his cock. It’s good, yeah, it’s almost too much it’s so good.

“This,” Masato says softly, “this is why Ren is obsessed. It’s the way you get. So responsive.”

Tokiya wants to argue, wants to ask how he’s _supposed_ to react when he’s buzzing, when Masa’s got one expert hand stroking his cock and the other just teasing at him, torn between sore and needy, when he’s out of his head with want. Instead, he bites hard on Masa’s collarbone and just tries to keep standing. Water isn’t the best lubricant, but it’s enough that the drag of Masa’s fingers over his hole don’t hurt, just keep him pinned, just keep him completely, totally aware that he was just fucked, and oh, even if Masato never does it again he’s got that once to remember, and the promise of Masa’s perfect fingers to wring him out.

He comes rutting up against Masa’s hip, his balls in Masa’s palm, his cock pressed between them. And Masato saying, “Yes, yes.”

Tokiya whines as he comes down, oversensitive and shaky, clutching at Masato like a lifeline. His knees will fail him if he tries to move, he knows it, he’s weak and heavy and Masato’s kissing him so sweetly, so deep.

Dazed, Tokiya mumbles, “Should - should I? Do you?”

Masato hushes him, squeezing his hips. “I’m perfectly happy, Tokiya. This was what I wanted, I promise you.” And he smiles the way he smiles when he’s got his hand around Ren’s throat.

“Oh,” is all Tokiya can say. (He’d thought that smile was only for Ren, only for the intensity of the history they shared, had accepted it as something Masato-and-Ren, one of the last vestiges of Before. But now, receiving it, the intimacy of it threatens to drag him under.)

“Careful, my love,” Masa says to him, shifting so they can both rinse off yet again. The water’s going lukewarm, cold, by the time Masato shuts it off. Tokiya stumbles into the towel Masa holds for him, but it’s Masato that does all the drying for the two of them.

He wants to ask if Masato’s really okay, if this is right, but Masa seals his mouth, kissing him with such warmth and easy contentment. Masa moves like warm honey, seeping past Tokiya’s lips, enveloping him.

Is it greed or is it trust when he caves? He makes a soft sound, looping his arms around Masato’s neck, succumbing to lazy, unhurried kisses. Their mouths drag together, slick and soft, no urgency. Tokiya’s heart can’t ache when the air he breathes comes from Masa’s throat.

“Will you… later, will you let me do that again?” Masato asks.

Quite honestly, Tokiya says, “Anything you want.”

Masato’s eyebrows raise. “Tokiya—“

“Anything. As long as you _want_ it. That’s all I care about.” He pulls the towel up to drape over their heads, to catch the water dripping from Masa’s fringe. “I. I was so much in my own head I didn’t notice, mm.” Masato’s fingers press to his mouth, so he stops, but he frowns and scrubs a little harder at his own hair.

“I could not have asked for anything better,” Masato breathes, moving his hand to cup Tokiya’s cheek. “You were _so_ conscientious, so aware of me, Tokiya. And… I’m not saying I had an unpleasant time of it?” He flushes a little, looking away. “I think. It’s a matter of. This might sound terrible.”

“What?”

Masato chews his lip. “If. If I have the choice, I prefer your mouth.”

Tokiya starts laughing, absurdly flattered. “Oh, okay?”

Masa’s flush only gets worse. “It’s just. I sound so selfish, don’t I? I don’t mean - I. I prefer to be able to focus on you completely, without distraction, and. And… have that same focus returned.”

With a soft smile, Tokiya leans in, bumping their foreheads together. “You can have my mouth, then. My attention. My focus.”

“Oh,” Masato breathes. “Then, I will be happy.”

“Would you like a little of that now?” Tokiya asks.

Masato’s mouth quirks upward. “No, though I appreciate the offer. What I’d really like is to sit with you, until we have to part again. May we?”

His chest bursting with light, Tokiya smiles. “We may.”


	16. The New Longest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of talking happens. Masato and Tokiya come to some conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Not only did it get away from me, it was like pulling teeth, ughhhh
> 
> Lots of talking, this got long. All of you are wonderful and so is my Bean for being my beta.
> 
> The thing that happens in this chapter shouldn't be a surprise. Ren mentioned it in the very beginning.

“Do you want to tell Ren?”

Tokiya’s proud of himself; he made it most of the morning without asking, leaned up against Masato on the sofa in companionable quiet as they messed around online, catching up on emails, making social media posts, checking in on the progress of various projects.

Masato doesn’t even look up from reviewing his script. “Mm?”

Tokiya sighs. This is one of those things he’s getting used to, a quirk particular to Masato. His ears shut off when he’s engrossed in something he’s reading, but eventually he’ll surface in response to the correct stimulus. Tokiya pockets his phone, waits until Masa actually sets down his tablet and turns to him before saying, “I think it should be up to you, whether or not you tell Ren.”

“You were there,” says Masato, his cheeks flushing. “I’m not… going to force you not to say something, if you feel it’s right.”

“It’s not about being forced to be quiet,” says Tokiya. He considers, trying to pull the right words together. “If this were a secret that could hurt one of us, I think it would be different. But you chose to try to figure something out about yourself, and I helped. The only thing I really think he should know about is your conclusion.”

“You think he’d be jealous,” Masato asks, though his tone drops at the end instead of rising.

Tokiya chews his lip. “I think he might misinterpret it. Like… you didn’t come to _him_ because you don’t trust him.”

Quickly, Masato says, “That’s not it at all.”

“I know, I know. But I don’t want him to think that. So… unless you have a way of talking to him about it…”

“He might think I want you more,” says Masato softly.

Tokiya swallows. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s ever territory we should get into. Because.” He lets out a breath, looks down at his own hands. He plunges on. “Because, whether or not it’s true, I think that’s something that’s always going to be shifting. Never quite… perfectly equal.”

Masato is quiet for long enough that Tokiya feels a little sick. Olive-yellow in the back of his mouth, nerves jangling between his shoulders. But then, Masato says, “That’s true.”

Tokiya glances over to find Masato watching him, his expression drawn tight with concentration. Like he, too, is searching for the words. And thank God, those words aren’t _you mean I’m not your favorite?_ or _who do you like best right now?_ because Tokiya has no answers he could reasonably give.

(Though, really, he trusts them not to ask those questions. Nobody wants the answers. There are better things to talk about.)

Softly, Masato says, “Do you know why I came to you?”

“Do you want to tell me?” Tokiya asks.

“Yes. It was based off of your experience, and the fact that I trusted you to know your own body and guide me.” Masato reaches out, covering Tokiya’s hand with one of his. “If you and Ren had… ah…”

Tokiya lets a giddy little laugh escape him, turning his hand to hold on to Masato’s. “It’s okay. I get it. I got fucked more, so you hoped I knew what I was doing. Tthat’s really what I was expecting to hear.”

“Augh,” says Masato, rubbing his free hand over his face. “There really is no way to talk about this without sounding crass.”

“Not unless you go _extremely_ romantic with it. Like, hmm.” Tokiya leans his head back against the sofa. “Like, when Ren and I make love, I’m the one _receiving his emotion_.”

“Stop that, stop it,” Masato groans. “That’s even worse!”

Laughing, Tokiya says, “So crass it is.” He rolls his head to the side to look over at Masato. “And for what it’s worth, whatever you decide to do, I think Ren will respect you. I do.”

With a bit of a huff that betrays how badly he’s flustered, Masato says, “I’m aware. I think. I’m not sure what I think.”

“That’s why I’m going to leave it to you to decide whether or not you want to tell him. Or _what_ you want to say. I don’t want to say something that’s not actually representative of how you feel.” Tokiya lifts his head, sitting up better. “I’m not trying to, um. To abdicate responsibility or anything like that, does that make sense? I’ll be there if you want, or talk to him, or whatever.”

Masato rubs his fingertips over Tokiya’s knuckles. “Are we making this a bigger deal than it is again? We do this, Tokiya.”

“Overthink? Yeah, that’s us,” says Tokiya wryly. He shakes his head. “Better than not to think at all, right?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” says Masato. He lifts their hands together, rubs Tokiya’s knuckles over his lips with a sigh. His words are flutter-soft as he says, “We aren’t going to hide from one another. We agreed to that in the beginning.”

Tokiya chews the side of his tongue. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“But you’re still planning to follow my lead, aren’t you?” Masato asks, pressing the back of Tokiya’s hand to his cheek.

“It seems like the right thing to do. Unless you tell me otherwise.” Tokiya shrugs.

“I’ll tell you,” Masato agrees. He drops his head, pressing his forehead to the back of Tokiya’s hand. “We’re definitely overthinking this.”

Tokiya snorts. He turns his hand in Masato’s grip to pet through his hair. “C’mere,” he says, to get Masato to lean closer. He rubs gentle circles just behind Masa’s temples, strokes his hair back from his face. Masato’s expression relaxes, and with it his posture.

He’s about to try pulling Masato down to rest in his lap when the doorknob jiggles, followed by a knock.

“Anybody in?” calls Natsuki.

Masato sits up, shaking his hair back into place. “Yes, coming.” He rises, waving Tokiya down when Tokiya tries to follow him. He opens the door and says, “I must have locked it without thinking.”

Natsuki smiles. “I think the rockslide would have shaken anybody. I’d rather you felt safe.” He’s got a covered plate in his hands, but the smell emanating from it doesn’t bleach Tokiya’s hair, which is an incredibly hopeful sign.

Masato sighs a little, holding the door open for him to come in. “You heard about that?”

“I was reading the news,” says Natsuki. “I’m very glad you’re okay.” He sets the plate down, and lifts the wrap from the plate to reveal six perfect poppyseed scones. “Now, quick, have one while it’s still warm.”

Tokiya pushes himself up, approaching the kitchen. If history bears out, they’ll need water.

Masato says, “Ah, thank you. Are you trying to stick to the recipe?” It’s a credit to his patience that his voice is even.

Natsuki laughs. “I am. But I did change it a little. I know you’re all sharing a meal plan, right?”

Tokiya fills two large glasses with as much water as he feels safe carrying, and passes one to Masato. “That’s correct,” he says. “It’s easier when we’re sharing a kitchen.”

“Well, I don’t know the rules of it, but I thought maybe whole wheat flour? And I switched the sugar for stevia!”

They pause. Well, it’s better than hot sauce or inedible materials, but…

“Did you put in the same amount as the recipe would have called for?” Masato asks, lifting a scone. He turns it over, examining the bottom.

“I did,” says Natsuki, beaming. “So you can have one without feeling too bad!”

Tokiya takes a breath to steady himself. He selects a scone and takes a bite. The scone is so dense he can barely chip off a sliver, and even then he’s filled with immediate regret. His mouth floods with artificial sweetness to the point that it’s bitter. He closes his eyes very tightly. Somewhere in there he can taste the poppyseed. Probably.

“The conversion,” says Masato gently, “is a ratio of about fifty to one.”

“I needed _fifty times_ more?” Natsuki asks.

“The reverse, I’m afraid,” says Masato. “You used fifty times too much.”

Natsuki’s face falls. “Oh, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.” He picks up a scone and pops the whole thing into his mouth. When he attempts to chew, his jaw stops abruptly.

Wordlessly, Tokiya offers him his glass of water.

With a great deal of water, and some concerted chewing, Natsuki gets the whole scone down. At this point, Tokiya suspects it’s less a matter of ignorance as it is a matter of pride, but Natsuki’s pretty green about the gills once he’s swallowed.

“But thank you,” says Masato, trading the empty glass in Natsuki’s hand for the full one. “It’s kind of you to think of us, and to try to change what you make for us.”

Natsuki drains half of the second glass. Tokiya touches his arm, says, “Come on, sit down.”

Obediently, Natsuki lets himself be led to the sofa. He sloshes down, running his tongue over his teeth. “Oh, dear.”

Tokiya sits beside him, watching the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “They… look beautiful.”

“But you know, we’re allowed to indulge every once in a while,” says Masato, sitting on Tokiya’s other side. “Especially since we know you work hard.”

In the face of Natsuki’s smile, Tokiya bites down hard on his impulse to add that they’d gotten in an extra workout that morning. It’s difficult, but somehow he manages. Instead, he says, “You’ve really improved a lot.”

“I think having all of us together like this is helping.” Natsuki smiles. “It’s so silly to admit now, but I was a little, ah. I won’t say worried, but I did think the three of you would isolate yourselves, once you shared an apartment.”

“Pardon?” says Masato, his voice distant.

Natsuki holds one hand up, palm open. “Don’t think I disapprove! I voted for the apartment assignments to be this way. I thought it was nice, and. And I’ve been so glad to see the three of you in love, I really have. It’s just that love has a tendency to … well, to narrow your view of the world, doesn’t it? I wasn’t sure you would have time for the rest of us.”

Tokiya would answer him, but his heart has stopped in his chest and he’s not sure it will ever start up again. Masato doesn’t say anything either, though Tokiya can’t quite hear him breathe. They’ve both frozen, they’ve both stuttered to a complete stop.

Gentle, pitying, Natsuki says, “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Tokiya can feel his heart restart with a kick like a truck backfiring. He manages, “That’s not. It’s. We aren’t.”

“It’s a good thing Ren isn’t here,” says Masato, almost absently, as though the shock has completely rid him of the filter between his brain and mouth.

Almost sharply, Tokiya says, “You mean _Jinguuji_.” And then, to Natsuki, “ _What?_ ”

Natsuki’s eyebrows raise. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Tokiya asks, leaning in closer. Masato grabs him by the arm, holding tight, like Tokiya might do something he’d regret. “Shinomiya. _Are we?_ ”

“Of course we are,” says Natsuki. “Are you… are you honestly worried I’d tell someone? I’ve known all this time. I never meant to scare you.”

Tokiya swallows. Yes, the sick, thunderous crunching of his guts is fear. And the unyielding grip Masato has on his arm. That, too. Weakly, he says, “You’ve known.”

“Well, yes.” Natsuki tilts his head. “And I’ve been keeping your secret like it was one of my own.”

“And you… you chose to make sure we could room together,” Tokiya continues.

Natsuki ventures a smile, smaller and more timid than he’d worn before Tokiya’s outburst. “I would like my friends to be happy. All of them.”

Tokiya takes a slow, steadying breath. On the exhale, he rolls his shoulders back. And he stops, because it occurs to him just how badly Natsuki’s been burned. By love, and the narrowing of perception that came with it, and the music he will no longer play.

For just an instant, a flicker really, Tokiya can see Satsuki looking out at him.

“So do we,” says Masato softly. His grip relaxes on Tokiya’s arm.

There are pins and needles in the hollow of Tokiya’s elbow. “Have we… scared you?” he asks.

The reflexive smile Natsuki gives him is as good as confirmation. It’s a twitch, a tightening at the corners of his eyes almost like a flinch.

To save him from answering, Masato says, “We didn’t mean to. None of us meant any harm.”

“Of course not,” Natsuki agrees. He pushes some of his hair back from his face, adjusting the way his glasses sit on his nose. “And you haven’t hurt anyone.”

“Shinomiya, I.” Tokiya pauses, pressing his palms together. “I apologize for being harsh, before.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone else has noticed?” Natsuki offers. “I think… certain conversations we’ve had would be different.”

“What does that mean,” Masato asks flatly.

“Only that it’s clear, from the way we’ve talked, that, well.” He looks to Tokiya. “They assume you are the peacekeeper in a volatile environment. Otoya worries about you.”

“Oh, honestly,” says Masato, irked. “We haven’t been at each others’ throats in years.”

Tokiya presses his lips together, but Natsuki feels no such compunction to hide a smile. “I don’t think they realize how sweet you are,” he agrees.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” says Tokiya, rubbing one hand over his face.

Natsuki laughs, but it’s fond. “That’s why I’m not nervous, anymore. I wish you could be more affectionate, when it’s just us. But that’s selfish on my part, I think.”

“You’re selfish?” Masato echoes.

“My heart is… weary of love,” says Natsuki softly. “But it’s still nice to see the way the three of you work together. I just wanted to say that I am happy for you. And I think you know. Someday, well, you’ll be tired of keeping the secret. It won’t always be this way.”

“That’s true,” says Tokiya, though the words taste like bile. “But for now, it has to be.”

“I am your ally,” says Natsuki. “And your friend.”

So quiet, almost a whisper on the edge of hearing, Masato asks, “Do you think they should know?”

“That’s not something I can say, really,” Natsuki muses. “I don’t know how all of them would take it. But if it begins to affect how you perform, then it might be necessary. We’ll be recording soon, and then another tour. Are you prepared for all of that?”

Looming behind all of that, deafening subtext: _You’ll never get another moment alone unless you ask for it._

The quiet between them stretches for too long.

Natsuki says, “I’m not asking for an answer.”

“Continue to trust us,” says Masato.

Warm, bright, Natsuki smiles. That’s more like it. He says, “Of course I do. I will.” He stands, then, laughing self-consciously. “I apologize for being intrusive.”

“No, you don’t,” says Tokiya, harsh to guard the rawness Natsuki has exposed in him.

Masato says, “Tokiya.”

Natsuki says, “Then, I don’t apologize. I meant everything I said.” He moves to the kitchen counter, the plate of rock-hard, bittersweet scones. He tips them into the trash can.

“You may as well not lie,” Tokiya says. “Why now?”

Natsuki shrugs, brushing crumbs from the plate. “It occurred to me. I didn’t have a plan, really.”

Tokiya barks a laugh. Natsuki’s smile curls a little at the edges, self-aware.

“Come over,” he says, nodding toward the door. “I’m going to try again, following the recipe this time.”

Masato clears his throat. “Do you need us to watch you?”

“I like your company,” says Natsuki. “Everyone else has gone for the day.”

“Alright,” says Masato. He stands, brushing past Tokiya as he moves toward the door. “I don’t have anything for a few more hours.”

“I’ll need to change clothes,” Tokiya says, running a hand through his hair. He’s still in the soft lounge clothes he wears around the apartment, not suitable for the appointments he has in the afternoon. “And I won’t be able to stay long.”

“That’s fine,” says Natsuki. “I’ll leave the door open, then.”

“Bring my phone when you come?” says Masato. “I left it to charge.”

“Sure.” Tokiya turns his back on them, heading toward their bedroom. He doesn’t wait to watch them leave. He can hear the door close from the hall.

He’s not sure how long he stares blankly into the closet.

Natsuki knows. Natsuki _has known_.

What, honestly, has changed?

Tokiya sucks his lip between his teeth. His skin is still sweet, too sweet.

Natsuki knows.

Tokiya shakes himself, dresses in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. A scarf, a toque. Boots that will catch on the street, now that the ice of winter is really upon them. His coat. Somehow the layers are reassuring.

He pockets his own phone, grabs Masato’s.

It’s not until he’s locked himself out of his apartment that he realizes the scarf and toque aren’t his. The scarf is Ren’s, some of his bright hairs hopelessly interwoven in the deep blue knit. The hat is Masato’s, soft, pale gray.

So he’s robed himself with them, Ren’s loose embrace around his neck and Masato’s calm keeping his ears warm. Alright, maybe it’s a little on-the-nose, but he feels better despite that.

He lets himself into the other apartment with his winter coat already on. Masato’s eyes narrow when Tokiya comes in and gives him his phone. If Natsuki picks up on it, he gives no sign, engrossed in sifting flour without making an unholy mess of it.

“I misjudged the time,” Tokiya says, by way of explanation. He smiles wryly. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll save you some when we’re done,” says Natsuki pleasantly. “If they’re successful?”

Masato says, “They will be.” He pulls an orange hair from Tokiya’s scarf. “Go on, then.”

Tokiya lets out a breath. “I’ll be back late,” he says. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

Masato shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

Natsuki looks up, smiles at them both. “Be safe.”

If anything else is expected, Tokiya disappoints. He just nods, and then he goes.

(What a terrifying thought, kissing Masato goodbye in front of _anyone_.)

(And yet.)

(and yet)

* * *

 

As a matter of professionalism, Tokiya often turns his phone off when he’s performing. Even if he leaves it backstage, he doesn’t want to bother anyone.

It’s to this text exchange that he returns, after a radio interview and meet-and-greet.

_ok boys group text time that was one cryptic voicemail_

_Shinomiya knows._

_about_  
_oh_  
_well obv hes always known_  
_what did he say to you_  
_did he say something to you  
_ _did he see something?_

_What do you mean “obv”?_

_obviously_  
_hes like_  
_he called it for the guy who handles the horses and the pa remember_  
_i wasnt even in prince of fights and i know about that one  
_ _and like all the backup dancers_

_This is getting off-topic._

_sry just_  
_i thought you all knew he knew_  
_like hes a genius as long as it doesnt involve him in any way_  
_then hes an idiot about it  
_ _probably thanks to The Other Guy_

_Please do not refer to Satsuki-san like he’s The Incredible Hulk._

_hey you got that one  
_ _you havent told me if he said anything to you_

_He did. He took it upon himself to inform us he’s happy for us._  
_And that he was our fourth vote.  
_ _And that he’d been concerned, early on, that we’d isolate from the others because of it, but he doesn’t regret the decision._

_wowww_

_i bet he thought he was being nice  
_ _are you ok? were you both there?_

_Yes, and yes._

_did he say anything else?_

_You want there to have been more?_

_no_  
_just asking  
_ _are you freaking out_

_Are you?_

_a little but only really at the prospect of you freaking out  
_ _and because ichi isn’t picking up???_

_He’s meeting with fans._

_hey i heard about the rockslide  
_ _you sure you’re ok?_

_Everything is fine. I am okay.  
_ _I lied. I am annoyed at the fact that you knew Shinomiya knows and you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us._

_i’m sorry_

_Is there anyone else?_

_no absolutely not_  
_at least not to my knowledge_  
_i swear and its not like i told him either  
_ _he seriously just figures these things out_

_I won’t see either of you until tonight._

_i know but i think this means right now no immediate crisis?_  
_we can talk later  
_ _we’ll talk_

_Yes._

Tokiya sighs a little. The exchange ended nearly two hours ago, and nothing after that. And Tokiya’s still got hours before he can be home.

Home.

From the back of a car, he sends, _I will be late. Too late for you to wait up I think._

_we’ll see_

The response is quick, like Ren had been holding his phone and waiting for it. It’s also Ren-speak for _we’re totally waiting up on you_ , and it shouldn’t warm Tokiya’s heart like it does.

He took a few dozen pictures with fans. By now, some of them must be online, and in each of them there’s a soft, gray hat over Tokiya’s hair and a scarf draped loosely over his shoulders. There’s no reason to assume anyone could know he’d borrowed them intentionally, and they’ve all worn one another’s things, but. But.

They were with him. He is theirs, and they are his, and Natsuki knows.

He’d never wanted to scream it until now. And that’s what it is, the kind of desire to stake a claim that isn’t patient, isn’t measured, isn’t pre-packaged, workshopped, safe, nonthreatening. He wants long, orange hairs tangled irrevocably in the threads of his clothes.

What a terrible, _selfish_ thought.

How infuriating is his love. How animal.

He wants them to wait up for him.

And he knows. He knows. They will.

* * *

They do.

Ren is dozing, his head in Masato’s lap, and Masato is watching him sleep like his heart is breaking and the shards are in his mouth. But they’re on the sofa, and they’re waiting.

Tokiya shuts the door, locks it. Says, “I’m home.”

Masato says, “Welcome back.” His voice is the kind of husky that comes from a tired throat.

“Bed,” Tokiya decides. He pulls the scarf from around his neck, unbuttons his coat.

“Hmuh?” says Ren, sitting up. He squints in the low light, then gives up, letting his eyes close. “No, ‘m’wake.”

Tokiya smiles a little, his first in a while. “Uh huh.”

Ren makes grabby hands for Tokiya, and despite himself, Tokiya comes. Ren reaches up for him, grips his coat and then his collar, kisses him with a mouth that tastes like sleep. Hums, warm and low in his throat, when Tokiya relaxes into the kiss and finally sighs.

“There’s my baby,” Ren mumbles, looping his arms around Tokiya’s neck. He pulls the hat from Tokiya’s head and gets a handful of his hair, guiding him down into a deeper kiss. Tokiya has to catch himself with one hand on the back of the sofa. But Ren’s tongue is teasing at his lip, coaxing, and he opens up on automatic to let him in. Ren makes a soft, pleased sound in return, kneading the back of Tokiya’s neck.

The tension Tokiya has carried all day melts off of him. Ren’s strong fingers, the comfort of his breath and the passion in his mouth, God, what could withstand him? Tokiya sheds his coat and the stress of the day with it, sinking into Ren’s lap. And Ren, obliging, drops his hands to Tokiya’s hips to hold him, pulls him in close and licks into his mouth.

“Is this really the time?” Masato asks, his voice thin.

Ren hums, slipping his hands up under the back of Tokiya’s shirt. “Mhm. Missed him all day. Didn’t you?”

Masato frowns. “Well. Yes.”

Tokiya laughs at how consternated he sounds. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” says Masato, starting to actually sound annoyed.

Tokiya pushes Ren’s hands off, leans past him to touch Masato’s cheek. “I love you. And I missed you. And we won’t always have this.”

“Says you,” says Ren. He lays back into Masato’s lap, beaming.

“So kiss me hello and _then_ we’ll talk. Okay?” Tokiya asks, rubbing his thumb over Masa’s jaw. He can feel the tension there, and the way it releases when Masato sighs.

“You are, both of you, incorrigible,” Masato says. “And. We need to talk. And I missed you, and I love you, and all of those things are true at once.” He closes his eyes. “ _You_ kiss _me_ if you want it so much.”

Masato’s petulance is kind of cute, really. Tokiya smiles, says, “Happily.” He takes Masa’s face in both his hands and kisses him so tenderly they only just barely touch. And again, slow and sweet, sucking Masato’s lip until he responds. There’s stress here, lingering at the hinge of his jaw and the creases around his eyes, in the way his posture is stiff. But, bit by bit, he gives it up, leaning into Tokiya’s hands.

Tokiya can feel Ren shifting out from under him, wriggling up to wrap himself around Masato and pet through his hair. Ren kisses the back of Tokiya’s hand, leans his cheek against the side of Masa’s head.

“You’re worried about whether or not we tell the rest of ‘em, right?” Ren murmurs.

“Nnn,” says Tokiya, pulling back. “Shh, hold on.”

“No, no, talk now,” Masato says, though he nuzzles at Tokiya’s nose.

Tokiya leans their foreheads together. “I vote no on coming out.”

“Ever?” Masato asks, just a little hopeful.

Ren snorts. “To the rest of the group. Cesshi, Ochibi. Break Ikki’s li’l heart.”

“No, it won’t,” says Tokiya, though he’s not entirely sure. He huffs a little when he feels Masato snort. “And Cecil is terrible with keeping secrets, and that’s assuming all of them are okay with it.”

“To counter,” says Ren, “even though I agree with you. At some point, we’re going to get caught. And as cute as it is when Ochibi-chan flips his shit—“

“Don’t say we’ll be caught like it’s a certainty,” says Masato. He turns away from Tokiya, but finds himself nose-to-nose with Ren, and gets himself summarily kissed. “Hmn!”

“Statistically, it’s a non-zero chance,” Tokiya murmurs, settling more comfortably on the sofa. He tucks his face against Masato’s neck, twining his fingers with Ren’s. “But most things are.”

Ren hums. “Non-zero, huh. You’re gonna try to make this a numbers game, you’re gonna run up against some, ah. Really important variables.”

Masato leans back against Ren, so the three of them tilt. “But you don’t want to tell them either.”

“Not really, no.” Ren sighs. “No, we’ve managed to hide it this long.”

“Not from Natsuki,” says Tokiya, lifting his head.

Ren smiles a little. “Yeah, well.”

Softly, Masato says, “Yes.” And swallows, closing his eyes. “We always knew this was a bad idea.”

Tokiya glances to Ren for confirmation that there wasn’t any regret there. Just resignation. And Ren’s smiling still, rubbing his cheek against Masato’s hair.

“So we continue being idiots until it blows up, and hope it’s one of those little ones, and not the kind that destroys everything, right?” Ren murmurs. “I’m in for that.”

Tokiya drops his head back down. “When Masa has a company to run, and Cecil returns to take his place as king, and … I’ll host game shows, or something. Isn’t that what washed-up idols do?”

“You are too skilled a musician to host game shows,” Ren says lightly. “It’s the lounge circuit or nothing. And I’ll model for the kind of hair dye that covers grays, you know?”

“Fuck,” says Masato, and hides his face in his hands. His chest shudders.

“Aw, baby,” says Ren. Both of them shift to hold Masato more tightly. “Sweetheart, you know we’re kidding.”

“But it’s true,” Masato says. “It’s true, we’re going to end. It’s going to be over at some point. We can’t.”

Ren kisses the top of Masato’s head. “I thought you knew me. Masa, listen. You think you’re ever getting rid of me?”

“That all sounds very romantic, but.” Tokiya swallows, trying to find the words. “I’m.”

“It’s not romance,” says Ren. His voice is low, but even. “I’m not letting go of either of you until you want me to. And I will do what I need to do, so that I can. You trying to tell me that you won’t?”

“They still think we fight like we used to,” says Masato dully, before Tokiya can so much as draw breath to reply. “I want to tell them that we don’t.”

“They know you don’t,” Tokiya says. He curls his hands around Masato’s wrists, pulls Masato’s hands from his face. “That’s not what you want to tell them.”

Ren laughs humorlessly into Masato’s hair. “New plan. We go over to the other apartment and just sit together like we do, you know? And every time I feel like kissin’ you, I’m going to.”

“Oh my God,” says Tokiya, but he’s starting to laugh despite himself.

Ren nuzzles into Masato’s neck and purrs, “Make ‘em just _really uncomfortable_.”

“Ren — gh, come on,” says Masato, huffing.

Ren blows a raspberry on his skin. Against Tokiya’s every expectation, Masato laughs. “Ren!”

“New new plan,” says Ren, grinning. “We’re gonna go to bed, right? We’ll fool around until we pass out, which is going to probably be really soon. And then, in the morning, we’re going to be _fine_. It’s all going to be good.”

Tokiya sighs a little. “That easy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m tired, Ichi. And staying up late, worrying about things we can’t change isn’t worth it.” Ren squeezes Masato close, nosing at his ear. “If we’re gonna stay up late, we should have fun with it.”

Masa’s eyes come open and meet Tokiya’s. They share a thought, Tokiya can feel it. The conscious decision to agree with Ren, because he’s right. Masa relaxes a little more into Ren’s hold, a wry expression of relief twisting his brows together.

“Okay,” says Masato. “Okay.”

They move together - gathering Tokiya’s discarded clothes from the floor, shutting off lights, getting ready for bed. Ren makes it to the bed first and starfishes out in the middle of it, stretching luxuriously as Tokiya brushes his teeth. And, despite declaring his desire for a little hanky panky, he’s asleep by the time Tokiya and Masato crawl into bed after him.

Masato lays his head on Ren’s shoulder, his hand on Ren’s chest. Tokiya curls up against Ren’s other side, high on the pillow. He tucks Ren’s hair out of the way so he doesn’t lay on it in the night.

In the dark, they breathe together. It’s been a long, long day, and all too soon, Tokiya drifts off.

* * *

Two full days later, Masato sends one single symbol in their group text thread.

 

(Up-Pointing Red Triangle ≊ Red Triangle Pointed Up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gotten two panicked comments already about the triangle. 
> 
> My sweet, dear hearts, please don't stress! Go back two chapters (chapter 14) and it should become quite clear :)


	17. Sacred Geometry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we make good on the concept of triangles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: If I'm gonna cross the 100k wordcount barrier I'm gonna do it like a dumpster fire
> 
> I'm not dead I swear, thank you for your patience and also I hope you enjoy and also also my Bean is the best beta and savior of my sanity and also sorry in advance I have no idea how to end this chapter and it's been months I just gave up it'll be better next time I swear I love you all

After that jarring conversation with Natsuki, they walk heel-toe and whisper, creeping through their lives with their backs together. Even Ren, out of sympathy for them, is a little more watchful than usual.

At least, that’s how it feels. Like there’s a gel over the world around them, dyeing the three of them an obvious muddle of _yes we fuck, it’s us, here we are_.

Nothing changes. And maybe that’s why it only takes two days.

It’s hard for Tokiya to keep his composure when one tiny, red triangle makes all his hair stand on end and he’s still got half a voice lesson to get through before he can make it home. And that loss of composure has nothing to do with fear of being caught, if he’s honest with himself. It’s the fog of promise and desire that chips at him, no nerves at all.

There’s nobody in the living room when he lets himself in. Tokiya locks the door behind himself, toes out of his shoes. Takes a breath in the quiet.

That’s when he hears it, the sound of something heavy butting up against a wall. Like furniture moving, or —

Oh. The bedroom door is closed.

_Oh._

He’s not sure whether someone has frozen in an attempt not to be discovered, or whether he’s been noticed at all. He takes care to make his progress through the apartment known, rapping his knuckles once on the bedroom door as he opens it, saying, “It’s just me.”

“We know,” says Masato, lifting his head. His hair is mussed, and he huffs it out of his eyes.

From below him, Ren says, “Finally!” He yelps when Masa bites his neck in retaliation, but quickly drops into something much lower, breathy. “Get up here, baby.”

Tokiya laughs. “As I am?” (It’s kind of a silly question. They’re both naked except for Ren’s jewelry, and grinding together like they’ve got all the time in the world. Like they’ve been at it for a while, enough to blunt the edge of desperation, settling into a rhythm like breathing.)

“No, no, clothes off,” says Ren, waving one hand vaguely at him. “We’ve gotta master some… sacred geometry.”

“Please hurry. I’d prefer his mouth were busy,” says Masato.

Tokiya smiles a little, leaning his hip against the doorframe. “I kind of like the view from here.”

“Yeah?” Ren mumbles, his head lolling toward Tokiya. “You sure we can—nn’t,” he trails off, arching. Masa scrapes his teeth over Ren’s collarbone.

Soft, soft, because Tokiya will hear him, because Tokiya will _always_ hear him, Masato says, “Please, Tokiya.”

Tokiya moves like Masato’s got him on strings. He pushes away from the doorframe, shuts the door behind himself. And Ren moans out a laugh as Tokiya sits on the other bed to get his socks off. “No-o, baby, c’mere,” he says, reaching across the empty space between the beds for him, hooking two fingers in the bottom hem of Tokiya’s pant leg.

Tokiya huffs, says, “I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” as he worms out of his clothes. Skinny jeans are a trial on a good day, but with the distraction ahead of him they’re almost impossible. Ren wriggles enough so that his head hangs off the bed and he can give Tokiya a dizzy, upside-down come-hither sort of look, can reach for Tokiya with both hands and leave himself totally vulnerable to Masato above him.

Tokiya kicks his jeans away and — stops. Because Masato’s closing his teeth over one of Ren’s nipples and he’s got one palm pressed over Ren’s throat, urging his head back, and Ren just arches and the ends of his hair slip-catching in the carpet take Tokiya’s breath away, and Ren’s going to bite through his lip to stay quiet at this rate, oh, fuck, Tokiya’s on his knees and kissing him so he won’t bleed. Now Ren’s hair lays over his knees, and Ren’s hands find his arms, and Ren hisses into his mouth, pressing his nose to Tokiya’s chin.

Tokiya bites Ren’s lip for him, licks that bared column of throat because it’s _right there_ , traces it down until he hits Masa’s hand. Ren shudders down to the tips of his fingers. Masato lifts his head to watch, his eyes dark and deep and blue-black.

“Tokiya,” he says, his voice too even, “come up here.”

For all that he wants to throw himself onto the bed, Tokiya takes a moment to scrape his teeth over Masa’s knuckles, to mouth his way back down to Ren’s chin, to guide Ren’s head up. Ren lets his arms go lax, breathing against the pressure of Masa’s hand.

“How long have you two been pregaming, huh?” Tokiya murmurs, pushing up on Ren’s shoulders so he can sit. As soon as Ren and Masa separate from one another, they pull Tokiya onto the bed with the kind of force that makes Tokiya laugh out of reflex.

“Had to get the math right,” says Ren, waggling his eyebrows.

Masato rolls his eyes, taking Tokiya by the chin to kiss him. It’s forceful enough that Tokiya gets the feeling Ren’s been making bad jokes for a hot minute, but Tokiya’s pleased to submit. He goes slack in Masa’s grip, a soft sound low in his throat, and lets Masa have him. The warmth and desire in his chest spikes to heat with their hands on him, Masato guiding his head and Ren petting over his belly in slow, possessive circles.

“So, joking aside, we think we’ve got it figured out,” Ren says lightly. “But maybe we’re gonna be mean and make you pick.”

Tokiya makes a noise of confusion that Masato takes it upon himself to stifle, and it’s so hard to focus on what Ren’s saying with Masa’s tongue teasing at his own and Ren’s thigh snaking between Tokiya’s legs from behind.

Ren molds himself to Tokiya’s back, murmurs against his ear so his words have the same pressure, “Yeah, so who do you want to suck off, baby?”

Maybe Tokiya could answer if he didn’t feel Masato smile against his mouth at the exact same time, the curl of his lip and the hard planes and points of his teeth (oh, how Tokiya’s heart soars, how rare it is that Masa grins, how thrilling), or if Masa didn’t dig his thumb in harder against Tokiya’s chin, holding his mouth open, or if Ren didn’t punctuate his own question by gripping Tokiya’s cock and rubbing his thumb over the side of it, but as it is the first answer they get from him is a stuttering moan. And Ren purrs and strokes him, nips the shell of his ear, lets Tokiya ride his thigh.

Even as Masato gives him control of his jaw again, Tokiya has no answer, can barely get his eyes to open as Masa withdraws, expectant, brushing their noses together. Masa pets down the side of his neck, breathes, “You can also consider the converse of the question. Whose attention do you want?”

“Flip a coin,” Tokiya mumbles, letting his head fall back on Ren’s shoulder. He arches into Ren’s grip, holding tight to Ren’s wrist. He feels Ren’s laugh more than he hears it.

Masato kisses the curve of his throat, says, “Not an answer.”

“Ooh,” says Ren, “hear that? You _have_ to pick.”

Masa’s hand joins Ren’s. They tease at Tokiya’s cock, just enough pressure to make his hips jerk but no rhythm, no purpose. Too dry, too light, how can he even think? And Masa sucks his lower lip, drops gentle kisses down the line of his jaw.

Ren thumbs Tokiya’s navel like it’s something obscene, splaying his fingers over Tokiya’s belly to feel him move. “Baby, beautiful, who’s mouth you gonna fill, huh? Who’re you gonna stuff with that pretty dick—“

“You want it?” Tokiya grinds, and Ren says, “Fuck yeah, baby, yeah,” and then they’re moving, and Tokiya’s got half a second to catch his breath before they’ve got to negotiate how they fit together.

They were right about triangles in a general sense, each resting his weight on one hip and curling over the next person. Tokiya’s facing the foot of the bed, his back braced against the wall and his legs bent around Ren up at the headboard. Pillows end up wherever there’s room, mostly on the floor. The angles aren’t perfect but it doesn’t matter when the searing heat of Ren’s mouth sinks over Tokiya’s cock and Tokiya’s almost choking on Masato and there’s this gorgeous, profane riot of sloppy, wet noises and Ren’s fingers digging into Tokiya’s hip and the hot weight of Masato’s cock dragging over his tongue. It’s the best kind of overwhelming, Tokiya can barely breathe but there’s a hunger that drives him, a kind of competitive drive to draw it out, to last until Masa comes down his throat. But God, it’s difficult when Ren’s playing dirty, tonguing at his slit and rubbing two wet fingers behind his balls in an undeniable rhythm.

Tokiya’s trapped between two warring needs: he can’t get Masa’s cock in his mouth the way he wants to at this angle, and _at the same time_ , he’s got no leverage to move with Ren. But from the rough, low noise Ren makes, he’s not alone with the frustration (but God, can they really complain?)

When Tokiya cracks one eye open to check on Masato, he realizes maybe Ren’s focus is elsewhere. Because Masa’s taking his time, laving slow, sweet kisses over Ren like his cock’s just another part of him, pausing to bite his hipbone, to nuzzle his thigh. Masa’s got no desperation at all, relaxed down the line of his back, fucking enjoying himself. Masato’s got the right damn idea.

Plus, the more needy Ren gets, the more his rhythm falters, and that gives Tokiya a little room to breathe. And maybe consider his options. And say, “Hold on, hold on,” in a voice he barely recognizes as his own it’s so rough.

It’s Masa that says, “Hm?”

Tokiya lifts his head, wiping his mouth on Masa’s leg. “I’m rolling over. Just to try it.”

Dreamy, soft, Ren says, “Sure, baby.”

And again, it takes some maneuvering, but Tokiya slots himself back into place with his back to Masa. He spreads his legs to let Ren’s head between them, so Ren can rest his cheek on Tokiya’s thigh and laugh, muffled, when Tokiya pretends to squish his head.

“Okay, green light,” Tokiya says, petting down Masato’s side. He presses his other hand to the wall to keep a safe distance from it.

“Take two,” says Masato, amused. “Ren?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Ren says, bracing Tokiya’s other leg over his shoulder. “Gimme some room to breathe, alright?”

Tokiya hums, shifting, but he’s already focused on kissing the head of Masa’s cock like he’s apologizing for being gone even for a minute. It’s so gratifying when Masa shivers in response. And yeah, Tokiya can’t see them any more, but he wasn’t really looking before and this is so much better. He’s got the space to bob his head, has a free hand to stroke over Masa’s balls, and _whoa_ Ren is not having issues swallowing him right down either.

Ren’s always known just how to take him apart, how to drag him to the edge and grind him against it until he’s a bundle of nerves and need. Ren massages the flat of his tongue along the underside of Tokiya’s cockhead like it’s good for him too, sucks soft, not-enough little kisses down the length of him every time he gets too close to coming. Like he’s got to draw this out forever, and it’s _torture_ when he stops completely. Tokiya whines, lost.

“Shh, baby, it’s good,” Ren soothes, his voice shuddery, “—ffck, _Masa_.”

Masato hums, unperturbed. Tokiya resists the urge to bite him, but only just.

Still, Masa’s pretty lucky that Tokiya’s first instinct has never been to clench his teeth, ‘cause just as suddenly as he left, Ren is back, and the counterpoint to his hot mouth is two slick fingers dragging over Tokiya’s asshole. Tokiya’s jaw falls open on a wheeze.

“Stop teasing,” Tokiya grinds out, arching. “Ren!”

Ren hums, sounding almost serene. “What, baby?”

“Idea,” says Masato, cutting off Tokiya’s reply. And Masa must be closest to the supply drawer, because not a moment later the lube is sailing over Tokiya’s hip, bonking off the wall. He just barely catches it, smacks Ren with it when he hands it down.

“Good idea,” Ren says, already snapping the cap open.

“Condition,” Masato says, in much the same tone. “Whatever you do to him, I’m going to do to you.”

Tokiya can feel the way Ren freezes up. He looks down, pets through Ren’s hair. “That’s a really, really good condition,” he says softly. His smile is maybe less reassuring than it should be (and more wildly turned on, God, he must look crazed) but Ren gets the picture.

“Masa… you sure?” he asks, but his eyes are locked on Tokiya.

“Yes,” says Masato. “Yes, I’m quite sure.” He pushes himself up to pluck the lube from Ren’s unresisting hands. “If you are.”

Tokiya pulls on Ren’s hair, just a little. “He’s good. He’s so good,” Tokiya murmurs, to both of them, _about_ both of them, it doesn’t matter when Masa sounds so brave and Ren’s eyes are almost black with need.

Ren licks his lips. “Yeah? Move your leg, Ichi.”

“Happy to,” says Tokiya. They shift, they settle so Tokiya’s got his leg braced on the ball of Ren’s shoulder, and when Ren touches him again it’s deliciously slick and a little desperate, his fingertip already starting to press in, mirroring the slow slide of Ren’s mouth on his cock.

And Tokiya’s ready for it, more than ready, so all he does is sigh and accept it, turning his face up to find Masa— Masa’s knees. Masa’s moved out of range. “—hey.”

“Ah, well,” Masato says, not the slightest bit sheepishly, “I won’t be able to see what he’s done once he’s inside you, Tokiya. So I’ll need you to tell me if I’m to copy him correctly.”

Tokiya’s sure Ren would swear if his mouth weren’t full. Tokiya does it for him. “ _Fuck_ , Masato, oh my God, okay.” His whole body feels hot, like all they’ve done is warm up until now, and he’s never regretted anything more than turning his back on them. But he can’t move now, it’d mess up the angles they’ve got going and he doesn’t want another break.

Tokiya reaches for anything to ground himself, buries his fingers in Ren’s hair.

Masato says, “It’s just, you were a very good teacher.”

Ren makes a questioning noise that vibrates down the length of Tokiya’s cock. He’s left his finger still, but now he starts making little come-hither gestures, searching.

“You tell him,” Tokiya moans, trying to press his face into the sheets. God, it’s so good, he’s writhing already, trying to grind back onto Ren’s hand.

Masato sounds so calm, so easy. “I will, once you tell me what he’s doing.”

Tokiya bites his lip hard, says, “Curl. Curling. Ah, slow—“

Ren shudders. Tokiya says, “Yeah, like that,” because Masato must be getting it right. Ren’s breathing hard through his nose, moaning soft and sweet around the head of Tokiya’s cock. Tokiya kneads through Ren’s hair, holding him.

(By now, Ren should be coaxing him into taking more, teasing at him, but he’s not. He’s going slow, steady, oh, being gentle on _himself_ —)

Masato says, “I remember, Tokiya, you told me I’d know when I found it.”

Tokiya laughs, bright and rough. “Take your time,” he gasps, and his thighs are shaking already.

It’s unfair, the way Ren can multitask, can do _anything_ when Tokiya knows Masa is methodically taking him to pieces. Then again, Tokiya’s bar is lower than ever, cleared by _don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop_ and Ren’s smart, Ren waits until Tokiya’s mid-moan to tease another finger into him, gets him going with shocked, rough noises and keeps the words out of his mouth. Tokiya can’t report to Masa if he’s biting the heel of his hand to keep his voice down, if Ren’s vicious when he scissors his fingers so Tokiya whines, if Ren sucks hard at him — but then he’s pulling off and crushing his mouth against Tokiya’s thigh to muffle a desperate cry — and Masa says, “Ah,” like he’s found the remote in the couch cushions and hasn’t just reduced Ren to a trembling mess.

Tokiya’s laughter comes out in great sobs, God, he’s so close he’s burning. He pulls his hand from Ren’s hair and strokes himself and that’s it, fuck, he’s coming, clenching around Ren’s fingers, spurting over Ren’s cheek. And Ren barely notices, except that his fingers twitch and slow. He’s still gasping into Tokiya’s thigh, brows drawn together all pretty and helpless.

“I get the feeling he cheated,” Masato says.

Ren withdraws his shaky fingers and Tokiya mumbles, “Uh huh, yeah,” a little stunned, a little soft. He swipes his thumb over Ren’s cheek, presses it between Ren’s lips. Ren’s tongue meets him, dips when he pushes down. He holds Ren by the chin, keeping his mouth open. “Definitely cheated.”

Ren’s eyes flutter, his jaw going slack. He says, “Hanh,” swallows around air.

Masato says, “Are you alright?”

Tokiya turns, shifts onto his back so he can see Masato. The hard wing of his shoulder, the slow rhythm of his arm. Tokiya takes his hand back and pushes himself against the wall so he can watch. “Mm, Yeah, I’m good.”

Ren drops his head to the bed, covering his mouth with one hand, the other dropping to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s curled with one leg hitched up, his knee by his elbow. His toes drag over the sheets, flex, relax, flex.

Tokiya holds up two fingers to Masato, spreads them like V-for-Victory. “Give him another one. That’s what he didn’t tell you.”

Masato licks his lips, smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Cheater.” And that’s all the warning Ren gets, it seems, before Masato’s stretching him.

Tokiya hums a little, pleased to watch Ren tense, relax, shudder down into taking it. He’s breathing on a count, little sounds escaping past wet, red lips, his eyebrows drawn up and his cheeks bright. God, he’s. He’s so pretty like this, charming and vulnerable and begging. Trusting them not to break him.

Alright, it’s addictive. Tokiya can feel the thrill racing up his back, the soft, hot pit in his stomach. Ren writhes, squeezes the base of his own cock — oh.

Tokiya reaches down to catch his wrist. “Ren, my love. That’s not how you do it.”

Ren’s pliant in his grip, lets him pull his hand away, turn it palm-up, fill it with lube. But his whole body goes tight when Tokiya gets Ren’s hand curled back around his cock in a tight, slick grip. Ren jerks, hips rolling into his own fist, desperation on his breath.

Masato says, “There, Ren, there,” and Ren shakes apart, his face pressed to the bed, spilling over his fingers. It’s an aching sort of eternal, spanning breath after breath until Ren’s moans take on a wounded edge and Masa goes still for him so he can come down.

Tokiya pets Ren’s hair back from his face with the driest edge of his hand. “You gonna make it?”

Ren’s tongue drags slow, hazy over his lower lip. “Mmn.”

Masa says, “Shall I keep going?”

Ren digs his teeth into his lip. “Dunno, I. That’s,” he mumbles, torn.

Tokiya says, “It’s alright. He’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Masato agrees, soothing.

Casual as anything, Tokiya continues, “Take your time.”

He finds the lube, gets another handful, takes Masa’s cock by the base. Masato arches — Ren hisses.

“That was fun,” Tokiya murmurs, pulling up with aching slowness. “But I couldn’t see anything.”

“Like I could,” Ren grinds through his teeth. Masa’s hand is twitching and he’s a little too sensitive for it, maybe.

“Shut up, cheater,” says Tokiya amicably. He smiles, thumbs the head of Masato’s cock. Masato laughs all husky and pleased, and it’s the closest they’ve ever come to getting him to moan.

Ren says, “Masa, I’m good, nh.”

Masato says, “Mm, you are,” as he withdraws, prompting a laugh out of Ren. He brings his hands to rest loosely above his head, dangling off the edge of the bed. His whole body rolls with Tokiya’s rhythm, his head falling back. Climax comes over him like a wave, sudden drowning and then a shaky sigh.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing his cheek against his arm. “Did you see that?”

Tokiya grins, gives the base of his cock a good squeeze just to watch him arch like a cat. “Yeah.”

“What happened to my blushing violets,” Ren mumbles, hiding his smile against the bed.

Masato sighs, soft and sated. “You don’t miss them.”

“I kinda wonder where you two came from,” Ren says.

Tokiya snorts. He and Masato share a glance. If Masato’s waiting, all Tokiya does is nod. He leans back against the wall again, pressing his shoulders to the cool paint. In contrast, he’s steaming, tacky, his mouth sore.

Masato says, “Ah, well. We spent an… educational morning—”

Tokiya laughs. “Masa, honestly.”

Ren tucks a pillow under his head and says, “What’d Ichi teach you?”

Masato flushes. “Well, we did. It was a morning where I asked Tokiya to let me touch him, to see if I’d… hm. To see what I was missing.” He shifts, crossing his wrists loosely over his forehead. “And clearly, I can admit when I’ve been wrong.”

Ren raises an eyebrow at Tokiya, who shrugs. “He’s a natural.”

What passes between them in that moment, silent and charged, comes out of Ren on a rough, “No joke.”

Tokiya grins. He pats Masato’s thigh. “He likes taking us apart.”

“It’s a theme of this relationship,” Masato says. He takes a steadying breath, then gets his feet on the floor and rises, rolling out his shoulders once he’s up. “And so, it seems, is sticking to the sheets.”

“That’s unavoidable,” says Ren. He nuzzles his face into the pillow he’s trapped. “I mean, I’m not complaining.”

“Join me when you’ve found your legs,” Masa says lightly. “I’m going to go shower.”

As Masa walks away, Ren breathes, “Gotta say, that’s a little beyond me still.”

Tokiya hums his agreement. He knows they’re pretty gross, but just sitting here in the cooling evening with Ren beside him and the wall at his back is more than enough to tempt him to lethargy. “You alright?”

Ren sighs, “Yeah-h” so dreamily Tokiya has to laugh. Ren’s mouth quirks as he looks up. “So, what d’you think it’s gonna take to get either one of you to fuck me already, because.”

Tokiya smacks him in the shoulder with his dry hand. “Masa’d do it out of obligation, not desire. You’re stuck with me.”

“When are _you_ gonna fuck me already?” Ren amends, his tongue poking out between his teeth.

Tokiya knows he’s being goaded, and it’s _great_. The warm thrill curls in his guts, sweet and promising, and he says, “Soon. Once, you know, you say the magic word.”

“I’ve got a day off coming up,” he volunteers with a hopeful glint. “I’ll wait for you.”

Ren, with nothing to do all day but prepare and wait for him, think about him, want him— “Yeah. Okay. That’s pretty magical.” Tokiya leans back and lets his breath out through his teeth.

Ren’s smile is slow, soft. He presses it into the pillow. “For now, you see my knees anywhere?”

Tokiya laughs. “It’s best if you just get up, I promise. Can’t leave Masa alone too long.”

“Mm, or he’ll get ideas,” Ren says, pushing himself into a sitting position. “We’ll both die at this rate.”

Tokiya gets off the bed, wincing at the multitude of new and exciting wet spots they’ve introduced to the linens. “This is where I say ‘what a way to go’, right?”

Ren chuckles, coming to stand beside Tokiya. He, too, surveys the wreckage. Points, with a contemplative, “That one kinda looks like a dolphin.”

When Tokiya groans, he says, “Ah, well. Not like we made it that way on porpoise.”


	18. Later that Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out they weren't done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, bitches, did you think this fic was dead?  
> (I swear I have never forgotten you)  
> (please enjoy this little interstitial pwp)  
> (more is coming soon)

There’s a reason they never showered as a group before this moment. (There’s just too much to keep track of.)

Ren’s still fawn-legged and dizzy, and both Tokiya and Masato have post-orgasm lethargy dragging at them, and there’s no way the water will get them all wet at once, so first Tokiya is cold, then Masato, and then Ren offers to warm them (the way he wiggles his eyebrows is so cheeseball, it’s stupid corny and it always makes Tokiya laugh which is probably why he does it, that and the wet-cat look Masa gets whenever Ren goes Full Dad Joke), and the one wet spot on the bed has nothing on the new wet spot — a puddle, really — on the bathroom floor. And Tokiya would complain that Ren’s hair is dripping cold streams over his chest and the doorjamb is pressing into his back but really, really, it’s _his_ arms wound around Ren’s neck (he’s squeezing the water from Ren’s hair), _his_ mouth fastened to Ren’s throat (Ren’s breath shakes, Tokiya’s shivering), _his_ legs thrown around Masa’s waist (and Masa’s cold, cold hands under his thighs keeping him there). And maybe Masa’s knee slips and hits the edge of the tub loud enough for the sound to resonate, but that doesn’t stop him from biting Tokiya’s chest just short of bruising (equal parts _fuck ow_ and _yeah good_ in sharp jolts) so Tokiya forgets to ask if he’s alright. Ren’s laughing, though, so it’s fine, Tokiya has Ren’s breath in his mouth and it’s good, fuck, he’s freezing and burning up at once, and there’s a hard line cutting into his back and he’s probably pulling Ren’s hair too hard but Ren likes that kind of thing, likes a little roughness.

Probably that’s why, when Tokiya can’t stand the position any more, Ren ends up on his back on the carpet, rug burn etching its way into his bare skin, and Tokiya would be sorry about it if Ren weren’t grinding up against him, slick and desperate and hot, God, he’s a brand between Tokiya’s thighs, and Masato’s pressed up against Tokiya’s back, sucking water from the side of his neck, tracing his fingertips over Tokiya’s belly. And Tokiya feels it like an ache, a hollowness in his core that follows the trail of Masa’s touch (damn Ren for not finishing what he started), so he mumbles, “Come on,” and Ren laughs at him.

(He’s never minded Ren’s laugh, not really, because Ren doesn’t do it to be cruel. It’s his way of saying he gets it.) Tokiya’s being selfish, maybe, but Ren says, “Sure, baby, anything you want,” and Masato says, “Greedy,” and thumbs his nipples (then twists, sharply, like a punishment or like praise, Tokiya’s cock jumps either way) and Ren says, “Yeah,” as he drags his fingernails down Tokiya’s thighs. Tokiya gasps, pressing back against Masato (they like him in the middle, like how responsive he gets, even if Masato has to cover his mouth), but Masato’s shifting away to dig in the bedside table (and sure it puts Tokiya off his balance but he has never loved Masa more than this moment). (When he throws the condom at Ren, it hits him in the cheek, and Tokiya barks a sudden laugh.)

From there it’s Masa’s cold fingers getting warmer (deft and smart, so Tokiya doesn’t even feel the burn of a stretch, just the building need, whining against his fist), Ren watching with rapt adoration (calling him _beautiful_ and saying _breathe, baby,_ like a prayer), and Masa coaxing Tokiya up, guiding Ren’s cock into the right position and saying, “Ride him, slow, take it slow.” Tokiya’s hands are braced on Ren’s chest, and Ren’s holding him loosely, but his fingers twitch when Tokiya (finally, _finally_ ) sinks down, and his eyes are fixed on Tokiya’s face, his tongue drawing a slow line over his upper lip. Fuck, he’s hot, he’s just _hot_ all sprawled on the floor, his hair clinging to his face and his neck, shivers going through him and soft sounds when Tokiya moves like he can’t help it, like Tokiya’s fucking _him_. Tokiya’s barely sunk all the way down before Masa’s got him by the hair hard enough to hurt, turning his head to the side so all Tokiya can see are Masa’s dark eyes. Tokiya’s back tenses up, and Ren twitches, and they’re already moving in this slow, unstoppable grind and Tokiya goes so easy, keeps the rhythm even while Masato pulls up, makes him sit up straight as he can. Tokiya knows he’s grinning because Masa hooks two dry fingers over his bottom teeth to guide his mouth open (if he takes a half-second to bite Masa’s fingertips it’s out of affection and not to stifle a moan, fuck, he’s never going to be able to look at Masa’s hands without remembering the way Masa pries right into him) and Ren swears, hoarse and reverent and broken in the middle.

Masa’s cock is heavy on his tongue. Tokiya sinks onto him with a breath out, his eyes fluttering closed (oh, _oh,_ he’s full) and Masa holds him there, shallow little thrusts past his lips, and Ren matches him so Tokiya won’t choke (how considerate, the way they cradle him, Masa holding his jaw and Ren steadying his thighs, Masa tugging his hair to keep his back straight) with the slow roll of his body, buried deep. Tokiya reaches up, wraps one hand around Masa’s wrist, the other around the base of Masa’s cock.

They’ve got him, they’ve got him. They come apart piece by piece (Tokiya’s lightheaded) (Masa presses his thumb hard to the hinge of Tokiya’s jaw) (Tokiya’s shivering but not with cold) (Ren’s breathing like he’s sprinting) (Masa says _oh, oh_ ) (Tokiya’s knees are burning) (Ren has him tight around the waist) (Tokiya’s thighs are burning) (Tokiya is burning) (they’ve got him).

Tokiya struggles to swallow when Masa comes, his breath burning in his chest, his eyes stinging. Masa shudders, riding it out, his face screwed up and his thumb hooked over Tokiya’s bottom lip. He makes it hard to keep from getting sloppy, so Tokiya’s got to fight to suck him clean, so his tongue works until Masa can’t stand it anymore and pulls him off.

The instant Masa’s fingers unclench from Tokiya’s hair, Ren bucks up hard, knocking Tokiya forward. He braces his hands on the floor above Ren’s shoulders, biting his lip to keep from crying out in surprise.

Ren swipes his thumb through the drool on Tokiya’s chin. Tokiya’s tongue follows, then his mouth, catching the heel of Ren’s hand between his teeth. Ren hisses, loses track of whatever he means to say as Tokiya grinds down again, again, using the new position, the leverage, to ride Ren _right_. Long and deep, rolling his hips to light himself up, fuck, Ren’s so thick like this, so hot, watching him with eyes glazed over (like Tokiya’s the best thing he’s ever seen) and his hands everywhere (blunt nails over Tokiya’s shoulders, palms smoothed over his ribs, fingertips tugging his nipples) and just trying to meet Tokiya’s rhythm. The softness of Ren’s belly is this stunning counterpoint whenever Tokiya’s cock brushes against it, becoming less of an afterthought and more of a total distraction. He braces himself on one hand and strokes himself, dropping his forehead to Ren’s chest to moan. Ren smacks his ass (good sting, just enough shock to make Tokiya clench around him) and leaves his hands there to guide him, to tease him with the hint of his fingernails, his grip getting just a little tight, two questing fingertips tracing Tokiya’s hole where it’s already stretched around Ren’s cock— Tokiya bites Ren’s shoulder and shakes through an orgasm that hits him like a punch, his eyes rolling and whimpers slipping through his teeth, and Ren comes while Tokiya’s still spasming around him so Tokiya can’t stop shaking, can’t come down, stuck to that live-wire edge.

Ren lets them stop. It’s up to Ren, he’s the one that lets them catch their breath. Tokiya rolls off of him and onto the floor on his back. He arches at the cold of it, at the sudden emptiness, and then he’s laughing because his knees hurt like hell and when, _when_ was the last time he ever got rug burn?

“We’re disgusting,” says Ren, catching the laugh. “God, what.”

Masato shivers, leaning his back against the foot of the bed. “What,” he echoes.

Tokiya stretches his leg toward the bathroom. The carpet squelches.

(Later, the carpet will dry.)

Ren sits up, wincing. His back is pink and raw, his hair a half-damp tangle.

(Later, Ren will sit on the closed lid of the toilet while Masato and Tokiya work together to salvage his hair. Ren will press his forehead to Masa’s bare chest and sigh. It will sound like home.)

Ren looks down, says, “Aw, baby, your knees.”

Tokiya levers himself up on his elbows. Masa is already kissing the side of his face, saying, “Ice packs. I’ll go.”

(Later, they’ll arrange themselves in a strange tangle to keep Tokiya’s knees and Ren’s back in the open air. Masato, from the bottom of the pile, will bear being squished with his usual grace.)

Ren smooths one palm down Tokiya’s calf to his ankle. He squeezes gently. “Starting to think you’re always gonna be the main casualty.”

“Lucky me,” says Tokiya, and means it.

Ren gives him a half-smile over his shoulder. “Lucky you.”

(Later, this will continue to be true.)


End file.
